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THE 


EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE 


Qln  f  ietoricdl  Sketcl)  of  ti)e  JBags  of  Napoleon 


BY 

L   MUHLBACH 

U7THOK  OP  DAUGHTER   OF   AN   EMPRESS,    MARIE   ANTOINETTE,   JOSEPH   11.    AND   HIS  COUXI 
FKEDERICK  THE   GREAT   AND   HIS   FAMILY.    BRRl.tN   AND   SANS-SOUCI,    ETC. 


TRAKSLATED  FROM  the  GERMAN  ST 

Rev.  W.  BINET,  A.  M. 


AKRON,  OHIO 

THE   WERNER   COMPANY 

1908 


COPTRIGHT.   1867, 

By  D.   APPLKTON   AND  COMPANY. 


OOKTENTS, 


BOOK  I. 


TffE  VISCOUNTESS  BEATTHARNAIS. 

OBAPTKK  tMO* 

I. — Introduction ••••^ 

II.— The  Young  Maid    ........  5 

III— The  Betrothal 15 

rV  — The  Young  Bonaparte 23 

V. — The  Unhappy  Marriage .        .        .       .       •       •       .38 

VI. — Trianon  ana  Marie  Antoinette      .....  57 

VII. — Lieutenant  Napoleon  Bonaparte 77 

VIII.— A  Page  from  History 97 

IX. — Josephine's  Return 109 

X.— The  Days  of  the  Revolution 117 

XI. — The  10th  of  August  and  the  Letter  of  Napoleon  Bo- 
naparte       ISO 

XIL— The  Execution  of  the  Queen 140 

XIII.— The  Arrest 158 

XIV.— In  Prison 172 

XV.— Deliveranoe 180 


BOOK  n. 

TEE   WIFE  OF  GENERAL  BONAPARTE. 

XVI. — Bonaparte  in  Corsica 192 

XVII. — Napoleon  Bonaparte  before  Toulon       ....    199 
XVIIL — Bonaparte's  Imprisonment      ..••..    207 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CEUFTBR  _  FAU 

XIX.— The  13th  Vend^miaire 221 

XX. — The  Widow  Josephine  Beauhamais  ....  231 

XXI.— The  New  Paris 241 

XXII.— The  First  Interview 249 

XXIII.— Marriage 262 

XXIV. — Bonaparte's  Love-Letters 273 

XXV. — Josephine  in  Italy 285 

XXVI. — Bonaparte  and  Josephine  in  Milan  ....  287 

XXVII.— The  Court  of  Montebello 318 

XXVIII.— The  Peace  of  Campo  Formio 835 

XXIX.— Days  of  Triumph 345 

BOOK  III. 

THE  EMPRESS  AND   THE  DIVORCED. 

XXX. — Plombieres  and  Malmaison        .       .       •       •       .  356 

XXXI.— The  First  Faithlessness .364 

XXXII.— The  18th  Brumaire ,381 

XXXIII.— The  Tuileries 400 

XXXIV.— The  Infernal  Machine 415 

XXXV.— The  Cashmeres  and  the  Letter 423 

XXXVI.— Malmaison 431 

XXXVII.— Flowers  and  Music 441 

XXXVIII.— Prelude  to  the  Empire 452 

XXXIX.— The  Pope  in  Paris 466 

XL.— The  Coronation 473 

XLI. — Days  of  Happiness 483 

XLII.— Divorce 491 

XLIII.— The  Divorced 505 

XLIV.— Death  .       .       .              ,       -               ,       ,       .  618 


LIST  OF  AUTHORITIES  CITED   IN  THIS  WORK 


1.  Thiers,  "  Histoire  du  Consulat  et  de  I'Empire,"  vol.  i.,  p.  18. 

2.  Thibeaudeau,  "  Le  Consulat  et  I'Empire,"  vol.  i.,  p.  2. 

3.  "  Memorial  de  Saiate  Helene,"  vol.  i.,  p.  iv. 

4.  Thibeaudeau,  "  Histoire  de  la  France  et  de  Napoleon  Bonaparte," 

vol.  i.,  p.  8. 

5.  "  Memoires  sur  I'lmperatrice  Josephine "  (par  Mile.  Ducrest),  voL 

i.,  p.  3. 

6.  Bourrienne,  "  Memoires  sur  Napoleon,"  vol.  i.,  p.  8. 

7.  Duchesse  d'Abrantes,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  i.,  p.  18. 

8.  Avrillon,  "  Memoires  sur  I'lmperatrice  Josephine,"  vol.  Lj'p.  3. 

9.  Goncourt,  "  Histoire  de  Marie  Antoinette." 

10.  Aubenas,  "  Histoire  de  I'lmperatrice  Josephine,"  vol.  i.,  p.  2. 

11.  "  Memoires  Secretes  sur  Napoleon  Bonaparte  ecrits  par  un  Hommi 

qui  ne  I'a  pas  quitte  depuis  quinze  ans." 

12.  Bussy,  "  History  of  Napoleon,"  illustrated  by  H.  Vemet,  vol.  1., 

p.  2. 

13.  Meneval,  "Napoleon  et  Marie  Louise;  Souvenirs  Historiques,** 

vol.  i.,  p.  3. 

14.  Cochelet,  "  Memoires  sur  la  Reine  Hortense." 

15.  Le  Normand,  "  Memoires  Historiques  de  I'lmperatrice  Josephine," 

vol.  i.,  p.  2. 

16.  "  Memoires  d'un  Homme  d'fitat,"  vol.  i.,  p.  18. 

17.  Constant,  "Memoires  sur  I'Empereur  Napoleon,"  vol.  i.,  p.  6. 

18.  Rovigo,  Due  de,  "Memoires,"  vol.  i.,  p.  8. 

19.  Raguse,  Due  de,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  i.,  p.  6. 


vi      LIST  OF  AUTHORITIES  CITED  IN  THIS  WORK. 

20.  Campan,  Madame  de,  "M^moires  ear  Marie  Antoinette,"  vol.  L, 

p.  8. 

21.  "  Memoires  Historiques  et  Militaires  sur  Camot" 

22.  "  Souvenirs  d'un  Sexagenaire,"  par  M.  Arnault,  vol.  i.,  p.  8. 

23.  "  Memoires  et  CJorrespondance  du  Roi  Joseph,"  vol.  L.  p.  8. 

24.  Lavalette,  "  Memoires  et  Souvenirs,"  vol.  L,  p,  2. 

25.  "  Lettres  de  Napoleon  k  Josephine,  de  Josephine  k  Napol^n,  et  de 

la  meme  &  sa  Fille." 

26.  Bausset,  "  Memoires  Anecdotiques  sur  Napoleon  et  I'lnt^rieur  du 

Palais,"  vol.  i.,  p.  4 

27.  "  Memoires  et  Correspondance  du  Prince  Eugene,"  vol.  L,  p.  2. 

28.  Lafont  d'Aussone,  "  Memoires  Secretes,"  vol.  i.,  p.  2. 

29.  Saint  Elme, "  Les  Amours  des  Rois  de  France,"  vol.  i.»  p.  9k 


THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 


BOOK  I. 

THE  VISCOUNTESS  BEAUHARNAI8. 


CHAPTER  I. 

INTRODUCTION. 


"I  WIN  the  battles,  Josephine  wins  me  the  hearts." 
These  words  of  Napoleon  are  the  most  beautiful  epitaph  of 
the  Empress  Josephine,  the  much-loved,  the  much-regretted, 
and  the  much-slandered  one.  Even  while  Napoleon  won 
battles,  while  with  lofty  pride  he  placed  his  foot  on  the  neck 
of  the  conquered,  took  away  from  princes  their  crowns,  and 
from  nations  their  liberty — while  Europe  trembling  bowed 
before  him,  and  despite  her  admiration  cursed  him — while 
hatred  heaved  up  the  hearts  of  all  nations  against  him — even 
then  none  could  refuse  admiration  to  the  tender,  lovely 
woman  who,  with  the  gracious  smile  of  goodness,  walked  at 
his  side ;  none  could  refuse  love  to  the  wife  of  the  conqueror, 
whose  countenance  of  brass  received  light  and  lustre  from 
the  beautiful  eyes  of  Josephine,  as  Memnon's  statue  from 
the  rays  of  the  sun. 

She  was  not  beautiful  according  to  those  high  and  ex- 
alted rules  of  beauty  which  we  admire  in  the  statues  of  the 
gods  of  old,  but  her  whole  being  was  surrounded  with  such 
a  charm,  goodness,  and  grace,  that  the  rules  of  beauty  were 
forgotten.    JosepHine's  beauty  was  belifeved  in,  and  the 

(1) 


2  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

heart  was  ravished  by  the  spell  of  such  a  gracious,  womanly 
apparition.  Goethe's  words,  which  the  Princess  Eleonore 
utters  in  reference  to  Antonio,  were  not  applicable  to  Jose- 
phine : 

"  All  the  gods  have  with  one  consent  brought  gifts  to 
his  cradle,  but,  alas !  the  Graces  have  remained  absent,  and 
where  the  gifts  of  these  lovely  ones  fail,  though  much  was 
given  and  much  received,  yet  on  such  a  bosom  is  no  resting- 
place." 

No,  the  Graces  were  not  absent  from  the  cradle  of  Jose- 
phine; they,  more  than  all  the  other  gods,  had  brought 
their  gifts  to  Josephine.  They  had  encircled  her  with  the 
girdle  of  gracefulness,  they  had  imparted  to  her  look,  to  her 
smile,  to  her  figure,  attraction  and  charm,  and  given  her 
that  beauty  which  is  greater  and  more  enduring  than  that 
of  youth,  namely  loveliness,  that  only  real  beauty.  Jose- 
phine possessed  the  beauty  of  grace,  and  this  quality  re- 
mained when  youth,  happiness,  and  grandeur,  had  deserted 
her.  This  beauty  of  grace  struck  the  Emperor  Alexander 
as  he  came  to  Malmaison  to  salute  the  dethroned  empress. 
He  had  entered  Paris  in  triumph,  and  laid  his  foot  on  the 
neck  of  him  whom  he  once  had  called  his  friend,  yet  before 
the  divorced  wife  of  the  dethroned  emperor  the  czar,  full  of 
admiration  and  respect,  bowed  his  head  and  made  her  hom- 
age as  to  a  queen ;  for,  though  she  was  dethroned,  on  her 
head  shone  the  crown  in  imperishable  beauty  and  glory,  the 
crown  of  loveliness,  of  faithfulness,  and  of  womanhood. 

She  was  not  witty  in  the  special  sense  of  a  so-called 
"witty  woman."  She  composed  no  verses,  she  wrote  no 
philosophical  dissertations,  she  painted  not,  she  was  no  poli- 
tician, she  was  no  practising  artist,  but  she  possessed  the 
deep  and  fine  intuition  of  all  that  which  is  beautiful  and 
noble ;  she  was  the  protectress  of  the  arts  and  sciences.  She 
knew  that  disciples  were  not  wanting  to  the  arts,  but  that 
often  a  Maecenas  i^  needed.     She  left  it  to  her  cousin,  th@ 


INTRODUCTION.  3 

Countess  Fanny  Beauharnais,  to  be  called  an  artist ;  hers 
was  a  loftier  destiny,  and  she  fulfilled  that  destiny  through 
her  whole  life — she  was  a  Maecenas,  the  protectress  of  the 
arts  and  sciences. 

As  Hamlet  says  of  his  father,  "  He  was  a  man,  take  him 
for  all  in  all,  I  shall  not  look  upon  his  like  again ; "  thus 
Josephine's  fame  consists  not  that  she  was  a  princess,  an 
empress  anointed  by  the  hands  of  the  pope  himself,  but  that 
she  was  a  noble  and  true  wife,  loving  yet  more  than  she  was 
loved,  entirely  given  up  in  unswerving  loyalty  to  him  who 
rejected  her ;  languishing  for  very  sorrow  on  account  of  his 
misfortune,  and  dying  for  very  grief  as  vanished  away  the 
star  of  his  happiness.  Thousands  in  her  place,  rejected, 
forgotten,  cast  away,  as  she  was — thousands  would  have  re- 
joiced in  the  righteousness  of  the  fate  which  struck  and 
threw  in  the  dust  the  man  who,  for  earthly  grandeur,  had 
abandoned  the  beloved  one  and  disowned  her  love.  Jose- 
phine wept  over  him,  lamented  over  his  calamities,  and  had 
but  a  wish  to  be  allowed  to  share  them  with  him.  Jose- 
phine died  broken-hearted — the  misfortunes  of  her  beloved, 
who  no  more  loved  her,  the  misfortunes  of  Napoleon,  broke 
her  heart. 

She  was  a  woman,  "  take  her  for  all  in  all " — a  noble,  a 
beautiful  woman,  a  loving  woman,  and  such  as  belongs  to 
no  peculiar  class,  to  no  peculiar  nation,  to  no  peculiar  special 
history  ;  she  belongs  to  the  world,  to  humanity,  to  universal 
history.  In  the  presence  of  such  an  apparition  all  national 
hatred  is  silent,  all  differences  of  political  opinion  are  silent. 
Like  a  great,  powerful  drama  drawn  from  the  universal  his- 
tory of  man  and  represented  before  our  eyes,  so  her  life  passes 
before  us ;  and  surprised,  wondering,  we  gaze  on,  indifferent 
whether  the  heroine  of  such  a  tragedy  be  Creole,  French, 
or  to  what  nation  she  may  owe  her  birth.  She  belongs  to 
the  world,  to  history,  and  if  we  Germans  have  no  love  for 
the  Emperor  Napoleon,  the  tyrant  of  the  world,  the  CaBsar 


,4  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

of  brass  who  bowed  the  people  down  into  the  dust,  and  trod 
under  foot  their  rights  and  liberties — if  we  Germans  have  no 
love  for  the  conqueror  Napoleon,  because  he  won  so  many 
battles  from  us,  yet  this  does  not  debar  us  from  loving  Jose- 
phine, who  during  her  lifetime  won  hearts  to  Napoleon,  and 
whose  beautiful  death  for  love's  sake  filled  with  tears  the 
eyes  of  those  whose  lips  knew  but  words  of  hatred  and  curs- 
ing against  the  emperor. 

To  write  the  life  of  Josephine  does  not  mean  to  write 
the  life  of  a  Frenchwoman,  the  life  of  the  wife  of  the  man 
who  brought  over  Germany  so  much  adversity,  shame,  and 
suffering,  but  it  means  to  write  a  woman's  life  which,  as  a 
fated  tragedy  or  like  a  mighty  picture,  rises  before  our 
vision.  It  is  to  unfold  a  portion  of  the  world's  history  be- 
fore our  eyes — and  the  world's  history  is  there  for  our  com- 
mon instruction  and  progress,  for  our  enlightenment  and 
encouragement. 

I  am  not  afraid,  therefore,  of  being  accused  of  lacking 
patriotism,  because  I  have  undertaken  to  write  the  life  of 
a  woman  who  is  not  a  German,  who  was  the  wife  of  Ger- 
many's greatest  enemy  and  oppressor.  It  is,  indeed,  a  por- 
tion of  the  universal  drama  which  is  unfolded  in  the  life  of 
this  woman,  and  amid  so  much  blood,  so  much  dishonor,  so 
many  tears,  so  much  humiliation,  so  much  pride,  arrogance, 
and  treachery,  of  this  renowned  period  of  the  world's  his- 
tory, shines  forth  the  figure  of  Josephine  as  the  bright  star 
of  womanhood,  of  love,  of  faithfulness — stars  need  no  birth- 
right, no  nationality,  they  belong  to  all  lands  and  nations. 


THE  YOUNG  MAID.  6 

CHAPTER   11. 

THE   YOUNG   MAID. 

On  the  23d  of  July,  1763,  to  the  Chevalier  Tascher  de  la 
Pagerie,  ex-lieutenant  of  the  royal  troops,  a  resident  of  the 
insignificant  spot  of  the  Trois  Islets,  on  the  island  of  Mar- 
tinique, was  borne  by  his  young,  rich,  and  beautiful  wife,  a 
first  child. 

The  loving  parents,  the  relatives  and  friends  had  longed 
for  this  child,  but  now  that  it  was  come,  they  bade  it  wel- 
come without  joy,  and  even  over  the  brow  of  the  young 
father  hung  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  as  he  received  the  in- 
telligence of  the  birth  of  his  child.  For  it  was  a  girl,  and 
not  the  wished-for  boy  who  was  to  be  the  inheritor  of  the 
valuable  family-plantation,  and  the  inheritor  also  of  the  an- 
cient and  respectable  name  of  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie. 

It  was,  however,  useless  to  murmur  against  fate.  What 
was  irrevocable  had  to  be  accepted,  and  welcome  made  to 
the  daughter,  who,  instead  of  the  expected  heir,  would  now 
lay  claim  to  the  rights  of  primogeniture.  As  an  inheritance 
reserved  for  him  who  had  not  come,  the  daughter  received 
the  name  which  had  been  destined  to  the  son.  For  two 
hundred  years  the  name  of  Joseph  had  been  given  to  the 
eldest  son  of  the  family  of  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie,  but  now 
that  there  was  none  to  whom  the  Chevalier,  Ex-lieutenant 
Joseph  de  la  Pagerie  could  leave  his  name  as  a  legacy,  the 
family  had  to  be  satisfied  to  give  the  name  to  his  daughter, 
and  consequently  she  received  at  baptism  the  name  of 
Joseph  Marie  Rosa. 

There  was,  however,  one  being  who  gladly  and  willingly 
forgave  the  fault  of  her  birth,  and  who  consecrated  to  the 
daughter  the  same  love  she  would  have  offered  to  the  son. 
This  being  was  the  mother  of  the  little  Joseph  Marie  Rosa. 


6  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

"  Contrary  to  all  our  wishes,"  writes  she  to  her  husband's 
sister,  the  beautiful  Madame  Renaudin,  in  Paris — "  contrary 
to  all  our  wishes,  God  has  given  me  a  daughter.  My  joy  is 
not  therefore  diminished,  for  I  look  upon  my  child  as  a  new 
bond  which  binds  me  still  closer  to  your  brother,  my  dear 
husband,  and  to  you.  Why  should  I  have  such  a  poor  and 
meagre  opinion  of  the  female  sex,  that  a  daughter  shouldj 
not  be  welcomed  by  me  ?  I  am  acquainted  with  many  per- 
sons of  our  sex  who  concentrate  in  themselves  as  many  good 
qualities  as  one  would  only  with  difl&culty  find  in  the  other 
sex.  Maternal  love  already  blinds  me  and  fosters  in  me  the 
hope  that  my  daughter  may  be  like  them,  and  if  even  I  can- 
not enjoy  this  satisfaction,  yet  I  am  thankful  to  my  child 
that  by  means  of  her  existence  I  am  gathering  so  much 
happiness." 

Indeed,  extraordinary  joy,  since  the  birth  of  the  child, 
reigned  in  the  house  of  M,  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie;  joy 
Teigned  all  over  Martinique,  for  the  long  war  between 
France  and  England  was  ended,  and  a  few  months  before 
the  birth  of  little  Joseph  Marie  Rosa,  the  peace  which 
secured  to  France  the  possession  of  her  maritime  colonies 
had  been  signed.  Martinique,  so  often  attacked,  bombarded, 
besieged  by  English  ships — Martinique  was  again  the  un- 
conditional property  of  France,  and  on  the  birthday  of  the 
little  Marie  Joseph  Rosa  the  French  fleet  entered  into  the 
harbor  of  Port  Royal,  landed  a  French  garrison  for  the 
island,  and  brought  a  new  governor  in  the  person  of  the 
Marquis  de  F^n^lon,  the  nephew  of  the  famous  Bishop  de 
F6n^lon. 

Joyously  and  quietly  passed  away  the  first  years  of  the  life 
of  the  little  Joseph,  or  little  Josephine,  as  her  kind  parents 
called  her.  Only  once,  in  the  third  year  of  'er  life,  was  Jose- 
phine's infancy  troubled  by  a  fright.  A  terrible  hurricane, 
such  as  is  known  to  exist  only  in  the  Antilles,  broke  over 
Martinique.    The  historians  of  that  period  know  not  how 


THE  YOUNG  MAID.  7 

to  depict  the  awful  and  calamitous  events  of  this  hurricane, 
which,  at  the  same  time,  seemed  to  shake  the  whole  earth 
with  its  convulsions.  In  Naples,  in  Sicily,  in  the  Molucca 
Islands,  volcanoes  broke  out  in  fearful  eruptions ;  for  three 
days  the  earth  trembled  in  Constantinople.  But  it  was  over 
Martinique  that  the  hurricane  raged  in  the  most  appalling 
manner.  In  less  than  four  hours  the  howling  northwest 
wind,  accompanied  by  forked  lightning,  rolling  thunder, 
heavy  water-spouts,  and  tremendous  earth-tremblings,  had 
hurled  down  into  fragments  all  the  houses  of  the  town,  all 
the  sugar-plantations,  and  all  the  negro  cabins.  Here  and 
there  the  earth  opened,  flames  darted  out  and  spread  round 
about  a  horrible  vapor  of  sulphur,  which  suffocated  human 
beings.  Trees  were  uprooted,  and  the  sugar  and  coffee 
plantations  destroyed.  The  sea  roared  and  upheaved,  sprang 
from  its  bounds,  and  shivered  as  mere  glass-work  barks  and 
even  some  of  the  larger  ships  lying  in  the  harbor  of  Port 
Royal.  Five  hundred  men  perished,  and  a  much  larger 
number  were  severely  wounded.  Distress  and  poverty  were 
the  result  of  this  astounding  convulsion  of  nature. 

The  estate  of  M.  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie  was  made  deso- 
late. His  residence,  his  sugar-plantations,  were  but  a  heap 
of  ruins  and  rubbish,  and  as  a  gift  of  Providence  he  looked 
upon  the  one  refuge  left  him  in  his  sugar-refinery,  which 
was  miraculously  spared  by  the  hurricane.  There  M. 
Tascher  saved  himself,  with  Josephine  and  her  younger 
sister,  and  there  his  wife  bore  him  a  third  child.  But 
Heaven  even  now  did  not  fulfil  the  long-cherished  wishes 
of  the  parents,  for  it  was  to  a  daughter  that  Madame  de  la 
Pagerie  gave  birth.  The  parents  were,  however,  weary  with 
murmuring  against  fate,  which  accomplished  not  their  wish ; 
and  so  to  prove  to  fate  that  this  daughter  was  welcome,  they 
named  the  child  born  amid  the  horrors  of  this  terrific  hurri- 
cane, Desiree,  the  Desired. 

Peaceful,  happy  years  followed  ; — peaceful  and  happy, 


S  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

in  the  midst  of  the  family,  passed  on  the  years  of  Jos&< 
phine's  infancy.  She  had  every  thing  which  could  be  pro- 
cured. Beloved  by  her  parents,  by  her  two  sisters,  wor- 
shipped by  her  servants  and  slaves,  she  lived  amid  a  beautiful, 
splendid,  and  sublime  nature,  in  the  very  midst  of  wealth 
and  affluence.  Her  father,  casting  away  all  ambition,  was 
satisfied  to  cultivate  his  wide  and  immense  domains,  and  to 
remain  among  his  one  hundred  and  fifty  slaves  as  master 
and  ruler,  to  whom  unconditional  and  cheerful  obedience 
was  rendered.  Her  mother  sought  and  wished  for  no  other 
happiness  than  the  peaceful  quietude  of  the  household  joys. 
Her  husband,  her  children,  her  home,  constituted  the  world 
where  she  breathed,  in  which  alone  centred  her  thoughts, 
her  wishes,  and  her  hopes.  To  mould  her  daughters  into 
good  housekeepers  and  wives,  and  if  possible  to  secure  for 
them  in  due  time,  by  means  of  a  brilliant  and  advantageous 
marriage,  a  happy  future — this  was  the  only  ambition  of 
this  gentle  and  virtuous  woman. 

Above  all  things,  it  was  necessary  to  procure  to  the 
daughters  an  education  suited  to  the  claims  of  high  social 
position,  and  which  would  fit  her  daughters  to  act  on  the 
world's  stage  the  part  which  their  birth,  their  wealth,  and 
beauty,  reserved  for  them.  The  tender  mother  consented 
to  part  with  her  darling,  with  her  eldest  daughter;  and 
Josephine,  not  yet  twelve  years  old,  was  brought,  for  com- 
pleting her  education,  to  the  convent  of  our  Lady  de  la 
Providence  in  Port  Royal.  There  she  learned  all  which  in 
the  Antilles  was  considered  necessary  for  the  education  of 
a  lady  of  rank;  there  she  obtained  that  light,  superficial, 
rudimentary  instruction,  which  was  then  thought  sufficient 
for  a  woman;  there  she  was  taught  to  write  her  mother 
tongue  with  a  certain  fluency  and  without  too  many  blun- 
ders; there  she  was  instructed  in  the  use  of  the  needle,  to 
execute  artistic  pieces  of  embroidery;  there  she  learned 
something  in  arithmetic  and  in  music ;  yea,  so  as  to  give  to 


THE  YOUNG  MAID.  9 

the  wealthy  daughter  of  M.  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie  a  full  and 
complete  education,  the  pious  sisters  of  the  convent  con- 
sented that  twice  a  week  a  dancing-master  should  come  to 
the  convent  to  give  to  Josephine  lessons  in  dancing,  the 
favorite  amusement  of  the  Creoles.* 

These  dancing-lessons  completed  the  education  of  Jo- 
sephine, and,  barely  fifteen  years  old,  she  returned  to  her 
parents  and  sisters  as  an  accomplished  young  lady,  to  per- 
form the  honors  of  the  house  alongside  of  her  mother,  to 
learn  from  her  to  preside  with  grace  and  ease  over  a  large 
mansion,  and  above  all  things  to  be  a  good  mistress,  a  bene- 
factress, and  a  protectress  to  her  slaves.  Under  her  mother's 
guidance,  Josephine  visited  the  negro  cabins  to  minister 
unto  the  sick,  to  bring  comfort  and  nourishment  to  the 
old  and  to  the  weak,  to  pray  with  the  dying,  to  take  under 
her  loving  guardianship  the  new-born  babes  of  the  negro 
women,  to  instruct  in  the  catechism  the  grown-up  children, 
to  excite  them  to  industry,  to  encourage  them  through 
kindness  and  friendliness,  to  protect  them,  and  to  be  a 
mediator  when  for  some  offence  they  were  condemned  to 
severe  punishment. 

It  was  a  wonderfully  peaceful  and  beautiful  life  that  of 
the  young  Josephine,  amid  a  bountiful  nature,  in  that  soft, 
sunny  clime  which  clothed  her  whole  being  with  that  tender, 
pleasing  grace,  that  lovely  quietude,  that  yielding  compla- 
cency, and  at  the  same  time  with  that  fiery,  passionate  nature 
of  the  Creoles.  Ordinarily  dressed  only  with  the  "  gaule,"  a 
wide,  loose  garment  of  white  muslin,  falling  loosely  about 
the  waist,  where  no  belt  gathered  its  folds,  the  beautiful 
head  wrapped  up  in  the  many-colored  madras,  which  around 
the  temples  was  folded  up  into  graceful  knots  holding  to- 
gether her  chestnut-brown  hair — in  this  dress  Josephine 

*  "  Histoire  de  I'lmperatrice  Josephine,"  par  Joseph  Aubenss^ 
vol.  i.,  p.  36. 


]0  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

would  swing  for  hours  in  her  hammock  made  of  homespun 
silk  and  ornamented  with  borders  of  feathers  from  the 
variegated  iridescent  birds  of  Cayenne. 

Kound  about  her  were  her  young  female  slaves,  watch- 
ing with  their  brilliant  dark  eyes  their  young  mistress,  ever 
ready  to  read  every  wish  upon  that  dreamy,  smiling  coun- 
tenance, and  by  their  swarthy  tinge  heightening  the  soft, 
tender  whiteness  of  her  own  complexion. 

Then,  wearied  with  the  stillness  and  with  her  dreams, 
Josephine  would  spring  up  from  the  hammock,  dart  into 
the  house  with  all  the  lightness  of  the  gazelle  to  enliven  the 
family  with  her  own  joyousness,  her  merry  pleasantry,  and 
accompanied  by  her  guitar  to  sing  unto  them  with  her 
lovely  youthful  voice  the  songs  of  the  Creoles.  As  the 
glowing  sun  was  at  its  setting,  away  she  hastened  with  her 
slaves  into  the  garden,  directed  their  labors,  and  with  her 
own  hands  tended  her  own  cherished  flowers,  which  com- 
mingled together  in  admirable  admixture  from  all  climes 
under  the  genial  skies  of  the  Antilles.  In  the  evening,  the 
(family  was  gathered  together  in  the  light  of  the  moon, 
which  imparted  to  the  nights  the  brightness  of  day  and 
streamed  upon  them  her  soft  blue  rays,  upon  the  fragrant 
terrace,  in  front  of  the  house,  where  the  faithful  slaves 
carefully  watched  the  little  group  close  one  to  another  and 
guarded  their  mastere  from  the  approaches  of  poisonous 
serpents,  that  insidious  progeny  of  the  night. 

On  Sundays,  after  Josephine  had  religiously  and  faith- 
fully listened  to  an  early  mass,  she  gladly  attended  in  the 
evening  the  "barraboula"  of  the  negroes,  dancing  their 
African  dances  in  the  glare  of  torches  and  to  the  monoto- 
nous sound  of  the  tam-tam. 

On  festivals,  she  assisted  her  mother  to  put  all  things  in 
order,  and  to  preside  at  the  great  banquets  given  to  relatives 
and  friends,  who  afterward  were  visited  in  their  turrf,  and 
then  the  slaves  carried  their  masters  in  hammocks,  or  else, 


THE  YOUNG  MAID.  H 

what  was  far  more  acceptable,  the  young  maidens  mounted 
small  Spanish  horses,  full  of  courage  and  daring,  and  whose 
firm,  quick  step  made  a  ride  to  Porto  Kico  simply  a  rushing 
gallop. 

Amidst  this  dreamy,  sunny,  joyous  existence  of  the 
young  maiden  gleamed  one  day,  as  a  lightning-flash,  a  pro- 
phetic ray  of  Josephine's  future  greatness. 

This  happened  one  afternoon  as  she  was  walking  alone 
and  thoughtful  through  the  plantation.  A  group  of  ne- 
gresses,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  an  old  and  unknown 
woman,  attracted  her  attention.  Josephine  approached.  It 
was  an  old  negro  woman  from  a  neighboring  plantation,  and 
she  was  telling  the  fortune  of  the  young  negro  women  of 
M.  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie.  No  sooner  did  the  old  woman 
cast  her  eyes  on  Josephine  than  she  seemed  to  shrink  into 
one  mass,  whilst  an  expression  of  horror  and  wonder  stole 
over  her  face.  She  vehemently  sei^sed  the  hand  of  the  young 
maiden,  examined  it  carefully,  and  then  lifted  up  her  large, 
astonished  eyes  with  a  searching  expression  to  the  face  of 
Josephine. 

"  You  must  see  something  very  wonderful  in  my  face 
and  in  my  hand  ?  "  inquired  Josephine,  laughing. 

"Yes,  something  very  wonderful,"  repeated  the  negro 
woman,  still  intently  staring  at  her. 

"  Is  it  a  good  or  a  bad  fortune  which  awaits  me  ?  " 

The  old  prophetess  slowly  shook  her  head. 

"  Who  can  tell,"  said  she,  gravely,  "  what  is  a  good  or  a 
bad  fortune  for  human  beings  ?  In  your  hand  I  see  evil, 
but  in  your  face  happiness — great,  lofty  happiness." 

"  Well,"  cried  out  Josephine,  laughing,  "  you  are  cau- 
tious, and  your  oracle  is  not  very  clear." 

The  old  woman  lifted  up  her  eyes  to  heaven  with  a 
strange  expression. 

"  I  dare  not,"  said  she,  "  express  myself  more  clearly." 

"  Speak  on,  whatever  the  result ! "  exclaimed  Josephine, 


12  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

whose  curiosity  was  excited  by  the  very  diffidence  of  the 
fortune-teller.  "  Say  what  you  see  in  my  future  life.  I 
wish  it,  I  order  you  to  do  so." 

"  Well,  if  you  order  it,  I  must  obey,"  said  she,  with  so- 
lemnity. "  Listen,  then.  I  read  in  your  countenance  that 
you  are  called  to  high  destinies.  You  will  soon  be  married. 
But  your  marriage  will  not  be  a  happy  one.  You  will  soon 
be  a  young  widow,  and  then — " 

"  Well,  and  then  ?  "  asked  Josephine,  passionately,  as  the 
old  woman  hesitated  and  remained  silent. 

"  Well,  and  then  you  will  be  Queen  of  France — more 
than  a  queen ! "  shouted  the  prophetess,  with  a  loud  voice. 
"  You  will  live  glorious,  brilliant  days,  but  at  the  last  mis- 
fortune will  come  and  carry  you  to  your  grave  in  a  day  of 
rebellion." 

Afraid  of  the  pictures  which  her  prophetic  vision  had 
contemplated  in  the  future,  the  old  hag  forced  her  way 
through  the  circle  of  negro  women  around,  and  rushed  awaj 
through  the  field  as  fast  as  her  feet  could  bear  her  on. 

Josephine,  laughing,  turned  to  her  astonished  women, 
who  had  followed  with  their  eyes  the  flight  of  the  prophet- 
ess, but  who  now  directed  their  dark  eyes  with  an  expres- 
sion of  awe  and  bewilderment  to  their  young  mistress,  of 
whom  the  fortune-teller  had  said  she  would  one  day  be 
Queen  of  France.  Josephine  endeavored  to  overthrow  the 
faith  of  her  swarthy  servants  in  the  fortune-teller,  and,  by 
pointing  to  the  ridiculous  prophecy  in  reference  to  herself, 
and  which  predicted  an  impossible  future,  she  tried  to  prove 
to  them  what  a  folly  it  was  to  rely  on  the  words  of  those 
who  made  a  profession  of  foretelling  the  future. 

But  against  her  will  the  prophetic  words  of  the  old 
woman  echoed  in  the  heart  of  the  young  maiden.  She 
could  not  return  home  to  her  family  and  talk,  laugh,  and 
dance,  as  she  had  been  accustomed  to  do  with  her  sisters. 
Followed  by  her  slaves,  she  went  into  her  garden  and  sank 


THE  YOUNG  MAID.  13 

in  a  hammock,  hung  amid  the  gigantic  leaves  of  a  palm- 
tree,  and,  while  the  negro  girls  danced  and  sang  round  her, 
the  young  maid  was  dreaming  about  the  future,  and  her 
beating  heart  asked  if  it  were  not  possible  that  the  prophecy 
of  the  negro  woman  might  one  day  be  realized. 

She,  the  daughter  of  M.  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie — she  a 
future  "  Queen  of  France !  More  than  a  queen  ! "  Oh,  it 
was  mere  folly  to  think  on  such  things,  and  to  busy  herself 
with  the  ludicrous  prophecies  of  the  old  woman. 

And  Josephine  laughed  at  her  own  credulity,  and  the 
slaves  sang  and  danced,  and  against  her  will  the  thoughts 
of  the  young  maiden  returned  to  the  prophecy  again  and 
again. 

What  the  old  fortune-teller  had  said,  was  it  so  very 
ridiculous,  so  impossible  ?  Could  not  that  prophecy  become 
a  reality  ?  Was  it,  then,  the  first  time  that  a  daughter  of 
the  Island  of  Martinique  had  been  exalted  to  grandeur  and 
lofty  honors  ? 

Josephine  asked  these  questions  to  herself,  as  dreaming 
and  thoughtful  she  swung  in  the  hammock  and  gazed  to- 
ward the  horizon  upon  the  sea,  which,  in  its  blue  depths 
and  brilliancy,  hung  there  as  if  heaven  had  lowered  itself 
down  to  earth.  That  sea  was  a  pathway  to  France,  and 
already  once  before  had  its  waves  wafted  a  daughter  of  the 
Island  of  Martinique  to  a  throne. 

Thus  ran  the  thoughts  of  Josephine.  She  thought  of 
Fran9oise  d'Aubigne,  and  of  her  wondrous  story.  A  poor 
wanderer,  fleeing  from  France  to  search  for  happiness  be- 
yond the  seas  in  a  foreign  land,  M.  d'Aubigne  had  landed 
in  Martinique  with  his  young  wife.  There  Frangoise  was 
born,  there  passed  away  the  first  years  of  her  life.  Once, 
when  a  child  of  three  years  old,  she  was  bitten  by  a  venom- 
ous serpent,  and  her  life  was  saved  only  through  the  devo- 
tion of  her  black  nurse,  who  sucked  alike  poison  and  death 
from  the  wound.     Another  time,  as  she  was  on  a  voyage 


14  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

with  her  parents,  the  vessel  was  in  danger  of  being  captured 
by  a  corsair ;  and  a  third  time  a  powerful  whirlwind  carried 
into  the  waves  of  the  sea  the  little  Fran9oise,  who  was  walk- 
ing on  the  shore,  but  a  large  black  dog,  her  companion  and 
favorite,  sprang  after  her,  seized  her  dress  with  its  teetli, 
and  carried  the  child  back  to  the  shore,  where  sobbing  for 
joy  her  mother  received  her. 

Fate  had  reserved  great  things  for  Frangoise,  and  with 
all  manner  of  horrors  it  submitted  the  child  to  probation  to 
make  of  it  a  strong  and  noble  woman. 

A  severer  blow  came  when  her  father,  losing  in  gambling 
all  the  property  which  he  had  gathered  in  Martinique,  died 
suddenly,  leaving  his  family  in  poverty  and  want  Another 
blow  more  severe  still  came  when  on  her  return  to  France, 
whither  her  mother  was  going  with  her,  she  lost  this  last 
prop  of  her  youth  and  childhood.  Madame  d'Aubigne  died, 
and  her  body  was  committed  to  the  waves;  and,  as  a  desti- 
tute orphan,  Fran^oise  d'Aubign^  touched  the  soil  of  France. 

And  what  became  of  the  poor  orphan  of  the  Creole  of 
Martinique  ? 

She  became  the  wife  of  a  king,  and  nearly  a  queen ! 
For  Fran^oise  d'Aubigne,  the  widow  of  Scarron,  the  gov- 
erness of  the  children  of  Louis  XIV,  had  caused  the  mother 
of  these  children,  the  beautiful  Madame  de  Montespan,  to 
be  cast  away,  and  she  became  the  friend,  the  beloved,  the 
secret  spouse  of  the  king ;  and  the  lofty  Louis,  who  could 
say  of  himself,  '■''L'etat  c'est  moi,^^  he,  with  all  the  power  of 
his  will,  with  all  his  authority,  was  the  humble  vassal  of 
FranQoise  d'Aubigne,  Marquise  de  Maintenon  ! 

This  was  the  first  princess  whom  Martinique  had  given 
to  the  world  ! 

Was  it  not  possible  that  the  prophecies  of  the  old  negro 
woman  could  be  realized  ?  could  not  once  more  a  daughter 
of  the  Island  of  Martinique  be  exalted  into  a  princess  ? 

"  You  will  be  Queen  of  France ! "  the  negress  had  said. 


THE  BETROTHAL.  15 

No,  it  was  mere  folly  to  believe  in  such  a  ridiculous 
prophecy.  The  throne  of  France  was  now  occupied.  Along- 
side of  her  consort,  the  good,  the  well-beloved  Louis  XVI, 
the  young  and  beautiful  Queen  Marie  Antoinette,  the 
daughter  of  the  mighty  Empress  Maria  Theresa,  sat  on  the 
throne.  She  was  young,  she  was  beloved  throughout  France, 
and  she  had  already,  to  the  great  delight  of  her  husband  and 
of  his  people,  borne  an  heir  to  the  throne  of  France. 

The  throne  of  the  lilies  stood  then  on  firm  and  sure 
foundations,  and  the  prophecies  of  the  old  negress  belonged 
only  to  the  kingdom  of  fables.* 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   BETROTHAL. 

Six  months  had  barely  elapsed  since  Josephine's  return 
from  the  convent  when  the  family  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie 
received  from  their  relatives  in  Paris  letters  which  Avere  to 
be  of  the  greatest  importance  for  the  whole  family. 

The  beautiful  Madame  de  Renaudin,  sister  of  M.  Tascher 
de  la  Pagerie,  had  settled  in  Paris  after  having  rid  herself 
of  an  unhappy  marriage  with  a  man,  coarse  and  addicted  to 
gambling,  and  after  having,  through  a  legal  separation,  re- 
obtained  her  freedom.  She  lived  there  in  the  closest  inti- 
macy with  the  Marquis  de  Beauharnais,  who,  for  many  years, 
at  an  earlier  period,  had  resided  as  governor  on  the  Island 
of  Martinique,  and  there  had  bound  himself  to  the  whole 
family  of  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie  by  the  ties  of  a  cordial 

*  This  prophecy,  nearly  as  related  above,  was  told  by  the  Empress 
Josephine  herself  to  her  maids  of  honor  in  the  castle  of  Navarra. — See 
"  Memoires  sur  I'lmperatrice  Josephine,  la  Ville,  la  Cour  et  les  Salons 
de  Paris  sous  I'Empire,  par  Madame  Georgette  Ducrest." 


le  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

friendship.  His  wife,  during  her  residence  in  Martinique, 
had  been  the  most  tender  friend  of  Madame  de  Renaudin, 
and  when  the  marchioness  bore  a  second  son  to  her  hus- 
band, Madame  de  Renaudin  had  stood  as  godmother,  and 
promised  to  love  and  protect  the  child  of  her  friend  as  if 
she  were  his  mother. 

Chance  brought  on  the  opportunity  of  accomplishing 
this  promise  and  of  fulfilling  the  oath  made  to  God  before 
the  altar.  The  Marchioness  de  Beauharnais  returned  to 
France  in  the  year  1763  with  her  husband  and  her  two  sons, 
but  died  there  a  short  time  after ;  and  Madame  de  Renau- 
din, true  to  her  oath,  hastened  to  replace  the  natural  guard- 
ian, the  mother. 

Perhaps  she  had  but  followed  the  dictates  of  her  heart, 
perhaps  against  her  will  a  sentiment  of  joy  had  passed  over 
her  at  the  death  of  the  poor  marchioness,  for,  by  this  death, 
one  at  least  of  the  two  obstacles  intervening  between  Ma- 
dame de  Renaudin  and  the  Marquis  de  Beauharnais  had 
been  removed.  Both  married,  both  of  the  Catholic  religion^ 
death  alone  could  make  their  hands  free,  and  confef  upon 
them  the  right  of  joining  hands  together  for  ah  their 
days. 

They  loved  one  another,  they  had  ceased  long  ago  to 
make  a  secret  of  it ;  they  avowed  it  to  each  other  and  to 
their  dependants,  for  their  brave,  loyal,  and  noble  hearts 
would  not  stoop  to  falsehood  and  deception,  and  they  had 
the  courage  to  acknowledge  what  their  sentiments  were. 

Death  had  then  made  free  the  hand  of  the  Marquis  de 
Beauharnais,  but  life  held  yet  in  bondage  the  hand  of  the 
Baroness  de  Renaudin. 

As  long  as  her  husband  lived,  she  could  not,  though 
legally  divorced  from  him,  conscientiously  think  of  a  second 
marriage. 

But  she  possessed  the  courage  and  the  loyalty  of  true 
love ;  she  had  seen  and  experienced  enough  of  the  world  to 


THE  BETROTHAL.  17 

despise  its  judgments,  and  with  cheerful  determination  do 
what  in  her  conscience  she  held  to  be  good  and  right. 

Before  God's  altar  she  had  promised  to  the  deceased 
Marchioness  de  Beauharnais  to  be  a  mother  to  her  son ;  she 
loved  the  child  and  she  loved  the  father  of  this  child,  and, 
as  she  was  now  free,  as  she  had  no  duties  which  might  re-  • 
strain  her  footsteps,  she  followed  the  voice  of  her  heart  and 
braved  public  opinion. 

She  had  purchased  not  far  from  Paris,  at  Noisy-le- 
Grand,  a  country  residence,  and  there  passed  the  summer 
with  the  Marquis  de  Beauharnais,  with  his  two,  sons  and 
their  tutor. 

The  marquis  owned  a  superb  hotel  in  Paris,  in  Theve- 
not  Street,  and  there,  during  winter,  he  resided  with  his 
two  sons  and  the  Baroness  de  Kenaudin,  the  mother,  the 
guardian  of  his  two  orphan  sons,  the  friend,  the  confidante, 
the  companion  of  his  quiet  life,  entirely  devoted  to  study, 
to  the  arts,  to  the  sciences,  and  to  household  pleasures. 

Thus  the  years  passed  away  ;  the  two  sons  of  the  Mar- 
quis de  Beauharnais  had  grown  up  under  the  care  of  their 
maternal  friend  :  they  had  been  through  their  collegiate 
course,  had  been  one  year  students  at  Heidelberg,  had  re- 
turned, had  been  through  the  drill  of  soldier  and  officer,  a 
mere  form  which  custom  then  imposed  on  young  men  of 
high  birth ;  and  the  younger  son  Alexander,  the  godchild 
of  the  Baroness  de  Kenaudin,  had  scarcely  passed  his  six- 
teenth year  when  he  received  his  commission  as  sub-lieu- 
tenant. 

A  year  afterward  his  elder  brother  married  one  of  his 
cousins,  the  Countess  Claude  Beauharnais,  and  the  sight  of 
this  youthful  happy  love  excited  envy  in  the  heart  of  the 
young  lieutenant  of  seventeen  years,  and  awoke  in  him  a 
longing  for  a  similar  blessedness.  Freely  and  without  re- 
serve he  communicated  his  wishes  to  his  father,  begged  of 
him  to  choose  him  a  wife,  and  promised  to  take  readily  and 


ItJ  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

cheerfully  as  such  her  whom  his  father  or  his  sponsor,  his 
second  mother,  would  select  for  him. 

A  few  months  later  reached  Martinique  the  letters  which, 
as  already  said,  were  to  be  of  the  utmost  importance  to  the 
family  of  M.  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie. 

The  first  of  these  letters  "/as  from  the  Marquis  de  Beau- 
harnais,  and  addressed  to  the  parents  of  Josephine,  but  with 
a  considerate  and  delicate  tact  the  marquis  had  not  written 
the  letter  with  his  own  hand,  but  had  dictated  it  to  his  son 
Alexander,  so  as  to  prove  to  the  family  of  his  friend  De  la 
Pagerie  that  the  son  was  in  perfect  unison  of  sentiment  with 
the  father,  and  that  the  latter  only  expressed  what  the  son 
desired  and  approved. 

"  I  cannot  express,"  wrote  the  marquis,  "  how  much  satis- 
faction I  have  in  being  at  this  moment  able  to  give  you  a 
proof  of  the  inclination  and  friendship  which  I  always  have 
had  for  you.  As  you  will  perceive,  this  satisfaction  is  not 
merely  on  the  surface. 

"  My  two  sons,"  continues  he,  "  are  now  enjoying  an  an- 
nual income  of  forty  thousand  livres.  It  is  in  your  power 
to  give  me  your  daughter  to  enjoy  this  income  with  my  son, 
the  chevalier.  The  esteem  and  affection  he  feels  for  Ma- 
dame de  Renaudin  makes  him  passionately  desire  to  be 
united  with  her  niece.  I  can  assure  you  that  I  am  only 
gratifying  his  wishes  when  I  pray  you  to  give  me  for  him 
your  second  daughter,  whose  age  corresponds  at  best  with 
his.  I  sincerely  wish  that  your  eldest  daughter  were  a  few 
years  younger,  for  then  she  would  certainly  have  had  the 
preference,  the  more  so  that  she  is  described  to  me  under 
the  most  advantageous  colors.  But  I  confess  my  son,  who 
is  but  seventeen  and  a  half  years  old,  thinks  that  a  young 
lady  of  fifteen  is  too  near  him  in  age.  This  is  one  of  those 
cases  in  which  reasonable  and  reflecting  parents  will  accom- 
modate themselves  to  circumstances." 

M.  de  Beauharnais  adds  that  his  son  possesses  all  the 


THE  BETROTHAL.  19 

qualities  necessary  to  make  a  woman  happy.  At  the  same 
time  he  declares  that,  as  regards  his  future  daughter-in-lav,-, 
he  has  no  claims  to  a  dowry,  for  his  son  already  possesses  an 
income  of  forty  thousand  livres  from  his  mother's  legacy, 
and  that  after  his  father's  death  he  will  inherit  besides  an 
annual  income  of  twenty-five  thousand  livres.  He  then  en- 
treats M.  de  la  Pagerie,  as  soon  as  practicable,  to  send  his 
daughter  to  France,  and,  if  possible,  to  bring  her  himself. 
The  marquis  then  addresses  himself  directly  to  the  wife  of 
M.  de  la  Pagerie,  and  repeats  to  her  in  nearly  the  same 
words  his  proposal,  and  endeavors  also  to  excuse  to  her  the 
choice  of  the  second  daughter. 

"  The  most  flattering  things  have  been  told  me,"  writes 
he,  "  of  your  eldest  daughter,  but  my  son  finds  her,  with  her 
fifteen  years,  too  old  for  him.  My  son  is  worthy  of  becom- 
ing your  son-in-law  ;  Nature  has  gifted  him  with  good  and 
fine  parts,  and  his  income  is  sufficiently  large  to  share 
it  with  a  wife  qualified  to  render  him  happy.  Such  a 
one  I  trust  to  find  in  your  second  daughter ;  may  she  re- 
semble you,  made  me,  and  I  can  no  longer  doubt  of  my  son's 
happiness  !  I  feel  extremely  happy  to  see  my  long-cherished 
wishes  satisfied  !  I  can  ot  express  to  you  how  great  will  be 
my  joy  to  see  riveted  forever,  by  means  of  this  union  of  our 
two  families,  the  inclination  and  the  friendship  which  have 
already  so  long  chained  us  together.  I  trust  that  Mademoi- 
selle de  la  Pagerie  will  not  refuse  her  consent.  Allow  me  to 
embrace  her  and  already  to  greet  her  as  my  own  beloved 
daughter.'^  * 

To  this  letter  was  addressed  a  note  from  Madame  de 
Eenaudin  to  her  brother  and  to  her  sister-in-law.  She 
openly  acknowledges  that  she  it  was  who  desired  this  union, 
and  who  had  brought  the  matter  to  its  present  stage,  and 
she  endeavors  to  meet  the  objection  that  it  would  appear 

*  Aubenas, "  Histoire  de  I'lmperatrice  Josephine,"  vol.  i.,  p.  78. 


20  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

strange  for  a  young  lady  to  undertake  a  long  journey  in 
search  of  a  future  husband,  whilst  it  would  be  more  expe- 
dient that  the  bridegroom  should  make  the  journey  to  his 
bride,  to  receive  her  at  the  hands  of  her  parents,  and  bring 
her  with  him  to  a  new  home.  But  this  bride  of  thirteen 
years  must  first  be  trained  for  her  future  destiny ;  she  is  not 
to  be  in  the  house  of  her  future  father-in-law,  but  in  the 
house  of  Madame  de  Renaudin,  her  aunt,  and  she  is  there 
to  receive  the  completion  of  her  education  and  that  higher 
culture  which  her  parents,  even  with  all  the  necessary 
means,  could  not  give  her  in  Martinique. 

"  We  are  of  opinion,"  she  writes,  "  that  the  young  peo- 
ple must  see  one  another  and  please  each  other,  before  we 
bring  this  matter  to  a  close,  for  they  are  both  too  dear  to  us 
to  desire  to  coerce  them  against  their  inclination.  Your 
daughter  will  find  in  me  a  true  and  kind  mother,  and  I  am 
sure  that  she  will  find  the  happiness  of  her  future  life  in  the 
contemplated  union,  for  the  chevalier  is  well  qualified  to 
make  a  wife  happy.  All  that  I  can  say  of  him  exhausts  by 
no  means  the  praise  he  deserves.  He  has  a  pleasant  counte- 
nance, an  excellent  figure,  wit,  genius,  knowledge,  and,  what 
is  more  than  this,  all  the  noble  qualities  of  heart  and  soul 
are  united  in  him,  and  he  must  consequently  be  loved  by  all 
who  know  him." 

Meanwhile,  before  these  letters  reached  Martinique, 
chance  had  already  otherwise  decided  the  fate  of  Mary,  the 
second  daughter  of  M.  de  la  Pagerie.  With  one  sentence  it 
had  destroyed  all  the  family  schemes.  After  three  days  of 
confinement  to  a  bed  of  sickness,  Mary  had  died  of  a  violent 
fever,  and  when  the  letter,  in  which  the  Marquis  do  Beau- 
harnais  asked  for  her  hand,  reached  her  father,  she  had  been 
buried  three  months. 

M.  Tascher  de  la  Pagcrio  hastened  to  announce  her  death 
to  the  Marquis  and  to  Madame  de  Renaudin ;  and,  to  prove 
to  them  how  much  he  also  had  at  heart  a  union  of  the  two 


THE  BETROTHAL.  21 

families,  he  offered  to  his  son,  the  chevalier,  the  hand  of  his 
third  daughter,  the  little  twelve- year-old  Desiree.  Un- 
doubtedly it  would  have  been  more  gratifying  to  him  if  the 
choice  of  the  marquis  had  fallen  upon  his  eldest  daughter, 
a,nd  he  makes  this  known  very  clearly  in  his  answer  to 
Madame  de  Renaudin. 

"  My  eldest  daughter,"  writes  he,  "  Josephine,  who  is 
lately  returned  from  the  convent,  and  who  has  often  desired 
me  to  take  her  to  France,  will,  believe  me,  be  somewhat  sen- 
sitive at  the  preference  given  to  her  younger  sisters.  Jose- 
phine has  a  beautiful  head,  beautiful  eyes  and  arms,  and 
also  a  wonderful  talent  for  music.  During  her  stay  in  the 
convent  I  procured  her  a  guitar-teacher ;  she  has  made  the 
best  of  the  instruction  received,  and  she  has  a  glorious 
voice.  It  is  a  pity  she  has  not  the  opportunity  of  complet- 
ing her  education  in  France;  and  were  I  to  have  my 
wish,  I  would  bring  her  to  you  instead  of  my  other  two 
daughters." 

Meanwhile  the  Marquis  de  Beauharnais,  as  well  as  his 
son,  found  that  the  youngest  daughter  of  M.  de  la  Pagerie 
was  too  young  for  their  impatient  desire  to  bring  to  a  favor- 
able issue  these  important  family  concerns,  and  that  the 
eldest  of  the  daughters  ought  to  have  the  preference.  The 
son  of  the  marquis  especially  pronounced  himself  decidedly 
in  favor  of  Josephine,  and  father  and  son,  as  well  aa 
Madame  de  Renaudin,  turned  imploringly  to  M.  Tascher  de 
la  Pagerie,  praying  that  he  would  bring  them  his  eldest 
daughter. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  when  the  choice  of  the  Beauhar- 
nais family  had  irrevocably  fallen  upon  Josephine,  now  for 
the  first  time  was  this  proposed  marriage  made  known  to 
her,  and  her  consent  asked. 

Josephine,  whose  young  heart  was  like  a  blank  sheet  of 
paper,  whereon  love  had  as  yet  written  no  name,  Josephine 
rejoiced  at  the  prospect  of  accomplishing  the  secret  wish  of 


22  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

her  maiden  heart,  to  go  to  Paris — Paris,  the  burning  desire 
of  all  Creoles — Paris,  after  all  the  narratives  and  descriptions, 
which  had  been  made  to  Josephine,  rose  before  the  soul  of 
the  young  maiden  as  a  golden  morning  dream,  a  charming 
fairy  world ;  and  full  of  gratitude  she  already  loved  her 
future  husband,  to  whom  she  owed  the  happiness  of  becom- 
ing acquainted  with  the  city  of  wonders  and  pleasures. 

She  therefore  acquiesced  without  regret  at  being  separated 
from  lier  parents  and  from  her  sister,  from  the  home  of  all 
her  sweet  reminiscences  of  youth,  and  joyously,  in  August 
of  the  year  1779,  she  embarked  on  board  the  vessel  which 
was  to  take  her  with  her  father  to  France. 

In  the  middle  of  October  they  both,  after  a  stormy  pas- 
sage, touched  the  soil  of  France  and  announced  to  their 
relatives  their  safe  arrival.  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais,  full 
of  impatient  longings  to  see  his  unknown  young  bride, 
hastened  to  Brest  to  bid  her  and  her  father  welcome,  and  to 
accompany  them  to  Paris. 

The  first  meeting  of  the  young  couple  decided  their 
future.  Josephine,  smiling  and  blushing,  avowed  to  her 
father  that  she  was  willing  and  ready  to  marry  M,  Alexandre 
Beauharnais;  and,  the  very  first  day  of  his  meeting  with 
Josephine,  Alexandre  wrote  to  his  father  that  he  was  en- 
chanted with  the  choice  made,  and  that  he  felt  strongly 
convinced  that,  at  the  side  of  so  charming,  sweet,  and  lovely 
a  being,  he  would  lead  a  happy  and  sunny  life. 

The  love  of  the  children  had  crowned  all  the  schemes  of 
the  parents,  and  on  the  13th  of  December,  1779,  the  mar- 
riage of  the  young  couple  took  place.  On  the  13th  of 
December,  Mademoiselle  Josephine  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie 
became  the  Viscountess  Josephine  de  Beauharnais. 


THE  YOUNG  BONAPARTE.  23 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   YOUNG   BONAPARTE. 

In  the  same  year,  1779,  in  which  Josephine  de  la  Page- 
rie  for  the  first  time  left  Martinique  for  France,  a  vessel 
which  had  sailed  from  Corsica  brought  to  France  a  boy  who, 
not  only  as  regards  Josephine's  life,  but  also  as  regards  all 
Europe,  yea,  the  whole  world,  was  to  be  of  the  highest  im- 
portance, and  who,  with  the  iron  step  of  fatality,  was  to  walk 
through  Europe  to  subvert  thrones  and  raise  up  new  ones  ; 
to  tread  nations  in  the  dust,  and  to  lift  up  others  from  the 
dust ;  to  break  tyranny's  chains  in  which  people  languished, 
so  as  to  impose  upon  them  his  own  chains. 

This  boy  was  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  the  son  of  the  advo- 
cate Charles  de  Bonaparte, 

From  Ajaccio,  the  principal  town  of  Corsica,  came  the 
ship  which  brought  to  France  the  boy,  his  father,  and  his 
two  elder  brothers.  In  Ajaccio  the  family  of  the  Bonapartes 
had  been  settled  for  more  than  a  century.  There  also  Napo- 
leon had  passed  the  first  years  of  his  life,  in  the  family  cir- 
cle with  his  parents,  and  in  joyous  amusements  with  his  five 
brothers  and  sisters. 

His  father,  Charles  de  Bonaparte,  belonged  to  one  of 
the  noble  families  of  Corsica,  and  was  one  of  the  most  influ- 
ential men  on  the  island.  His  mother,  Letitia  Ramolina, 
was  well  known  throughout  the  island  for  her  beauty,  and 
the  only  woman  who  could  have  been  her  rival,  for  she  was 
her  equal  in  beauty,  youth,  and  grace,  was  her  dearest  friend, 
the  beautiful  Panonia  de  Comnene,  afterward  the  mother 
of  the  Duchess  d'Abrantes. 

The  beautiful  Letitia  Ramolina  was  married  to  Charles 
de  Bonaparte  the  same  year  that  her  friend  Panonia  de  Com- 
nene became  the  wife  of  M.  de  Permont,  a  high  French 


24  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINK 

official  in  Ajaccio.  Corsica  was  then  the  undisputed  prop- 
erty of  the  kingdom  of  France,  and,  however  proud  the 
Corsicans  were  of  their  island,  yet  they  were  satisfied  to  be 
called  subjects  of  France,  and  to  have  their  beautiful  island 
considered  as  a  province  of  France. 

Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  the  fifth  child  of  his  parents, 
the  favorite  of  his  beautiful  mother  Letitia,  who  was  the 
life  of  the  household,  the  ruler  of  the  family.  She  gov- 
erned the  house,  she  educated  the  children ;  she  knew,  with 
the  genuine  ability  of  a  housekeeper,  of  a  mother,  how  to 
spend  with  careful  frugality  the  moderate  income  of  her 
husband ;  how  to  economize,  and  yet  how  to  give  to  each 
what  was  needed.  As  to  the  father,  in  the  hours  of  leisure 
which  business,  political  debates,  and  amusements  allowed 
him  to  give  to  his  home  and  family,  his  children  were  an 
agreeable  recreation,  an  interesting  pastime ;  and  when  the 
children,  carried  away  by  the  sparkling  fire  of  youth,  shouted 
or  cried  too  loud,  the  father  endeavored  to  palliate  their 
misdemeanor,  and  obtain  their  pardon  from  their  mother. 
Then  Letitia's  eyes  were  fastened  with  a  flaming  glance 
upon  her  husband,  and,  imperatively  bidding  him  leave 
the  children,  she  would  say :  "  Let  them  alone.  Their  edu- 
cation concerns  you  not.  I  am  the  one  to  keep  the  eyes 
upon  them." 

She  trained  them  up  with  the  severity  of  a  father  and 
with  the  tenderness  of  a  mother.  Inexorable  against  every 
vice  of  heart  and  character,  she  was  lenient  and  indulgent 
toward  petty  offences  which  sprang  up  from  the  inconsider- 
ateness  and  spiritedness  of  youth.  Every  tendency  to  vul- 
gar sentiments,  to  mean  envy  or  selfishness,  she  strove  to 
uproot  by  galling  indignation ;  but  every  thing  which  was 
great  and  lofty,  all  sentiments  of  honor,  of  courage,  of  large- 
heartedness,  of  generosity,  of  kindness,  she  nursed  and  cher- 
ished in  the  hearts  of  her  children.  It  was  a  glorious  sight 
to  contemplate  this  young  mother  when  with  her  beautiful. 


THE  YOUNG  BONAPARTE.  25 

rosy  countenance  glowing  with  enthusiasm  and  blessedness, 
she  stood  among  her  children,  and  in  fiery,  expressive  man- 
ner spoke  to  the  listening  group  of  the  great  and  brave  of 
old,  of  the  deeds  of  a  Caesar,  of  a  Hannibal ;  when  she  spoke 
of  Brutus,  who,  though  he  loved  Cjesar,  yet,  greater  than 
Caesar,  and  a  more  exalted  Eoman  in  his  love  for  the  repub- 
lic, sacrificed  his  love  to  the  fatherland ;  or  when  she,  with 
that  burning  glow  which  all  Corsicans,  the  women  as  well 
as  the  men,  cherish  for  their  home  and  for  the  historical 
greatness  of  their  dear  island,  told  them  of  the  bravery  and 
self-denial  even  unto  death  with  which  the  Corsicans  for 
centuries  had  fought  for  the  freedom  of  their  island ;  how, 
faithful  to  the  ancient  sacred  law  of  blood,  they  never  let 
the  misdeed  pass  unpunished ;  they  never  feared  the  foe, 
however  powerful  he  might  be,  but  revenged  on  him  the 
evil  which  he  had  committed  against  sister  or  brother,  father 
or  mother. 

And  when  Letitia  thus  spoke  to  her  children  in  the 
beautiful  and  harmonious  language  of  her  country,  the  eyes 
of  the  little  Napoleon  were  all  aflame,  his  childish  counte- 
nance suddenly  assumed  a  grave  expression,  and  on  the  little 
body  of  the  child  was  seen  a  man's  head,  glowing  with  power, 
energy,  and  pride. 

These  narratives  of  his  mother,  these  enthusiastic  stories 
of  heroes  of  the  past,  which  the  boy,  with  loud-beating  heart, 
with  countenance  blanched  by  mental  excitement,  gathered 
from  the  beautiful  lips  of  his  mother,  were  the  highest 
pleasure  of  the  little  Napoleon,  and  often  in  future  years 
has  the  emperor  amid  his  glory  thought  of  those  days  never 
to  be  forgotten,  when  the  child's  heart  and  soul  hung  on 
his  mother's  lips,  and  listened  to  her  wondrous  stories  of 
heroes. 

These  narratives  of  Letitia,  this  enthusiasm  which  her 
glowing  language  awoke  in  the  heart  of  the  child,  thisVhole 
education  which  Letitia  gave  to  her  children,  became  the 


26  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

corner-stone  of  their  future.  As  a  sower,  Letitia  scattered 
the  seed  from  which  hero  and  warrior  were  to  spring  forth, 
and  the  grain  which  fell  into  the  heart  of  her  little  Napo- 
leon found  a  good  soil,  and  grew  and  prospered,  and  became 
a  laurel-tree,  which  adorned  the  whole  family  of  the  Bona- 
partes  with  the  blooming  crown  of  immortality. 

Great  men  are  ever  much  more  the  sons  of  their  mother 
than  of  the  father,  while  seldom  have  great  men  seen  their 
own  greatness  survive  in  their  sons.  This  is  a  wonderful 
secret  of  Nature,  which  perhaps  cannot  be  explained,  but 
which  cannot  be  denied. 

Goethe  was  the  true  son  of  his  talented  and  noble  mother, 
but  he  could  leave  as  a  legacy  to  his  son  only  the  fame  of  a 
name,  and  not  his  genius.  Henry  IV.,  the  son  of  a  noble, 
spiritual  and  large-hearted  Jeanne  de  Navarre,  could  not 
leave  to  France,  which  worshipped  and  loved  her  king, 
could  not  leave  to  his  people,  a  successor  who  resembled 
him,  and  who  would  inherit  his  sharp-sightedness,  his 
prudence,  his  courage,  and  his  greatness  of  soul.  His  son 
and  successor  was  Louis  XIII.,  a  king  whose  misfortune  it 
was  ever  to  be  overruled,  ever  to  be  humbled,  ever  to  stand 
in  the  shade  of  two  superior  natures,  which  excited  his 
envy,  but  Which  he  was  never  competent  to  overcome ;  ever 
overshadowed  by  the  past  glories  which  his  father's  fame 
threw  upon  him,  overshadowed  by  the  ruler  and  mentor  of 
his  choice,  his  minister,  the  Cardinal  de  Richelieu,  who 
darkened  his  whole  sad  existence. 

Napoleon  was  the  son  of  his  mother,  the  large-hearted 
and  high-minded  Letitia  Ramolina.  But  how  distant 
was  the  son  of  the  hero,  who,  from  a  poor  second  lieu- 
tenant, had  forced  his  way  to  the  throne  of  France !  how 
distant  the  poor  little  Duke  de  Reichstadt  from  his  great 
father!  Even  over  the  life  of  this  son  of  an  eminent 
father  weighed  a  shadow — the  shadow  of  his  father's  great- 
ness.    Under  this  shadow  which  the  column  of  Vendome 


THE  YOUNG  BONAPARTE.  27 

cast  from  Paris  to  the  imperial  city  of  Vienna,  which  the 
steep  rock  of  St.  Helena  cast  even  upon  the  castle  of  Schon- 
brunn,  under  this  shadow  died  the  Duke  de  Reichstadt,  the 
unfortunate  son  of  his  eminent  father. 

The  little  Napoleon  was  always  a  shy,  reserved,  quiet 
boy.  For  hours  long  he  could  hide  in  some  obscure  corner 
of  the  house  or  of  the  garden,  and  sit  there  with  head  bent 
low  and  eyes  closed,  half  asleep  and  half  dreaming;  but 
when  he  opened  his  eyes,  what  a  life  in  those  looks !  What 
animation,  what  exuberance  in  his  whole  being,  when  awak- 
ing from  his  childish  dreams  he  mixed  again  with  his  broth- 
ers, sisters,  and  friends ! 

Letitia's  words  and  example  had  penetrated  the  soul  of 
the  child  with  the  highest  emotions  of  honor  and  human 
dignity,  and  the  little  boy  of  seven  years  exhibited  often- 
times the  sentiments  of  honor,  pride,  and  obstinacy  of  a  man. 
Every  bodily  correction  to  which  he  was  submitted  made 
him  turn  pale  and  tremble,  not  from  pain  but  for  shame, 
filled  him  with  indignation,  and  was  apt  to  bring  on  sick- 
ness. In  Corsica  still  prevailed  the  custom  of  severe  dis- 
cipline for  children,  and  in  all  the  classes  of  the  school  the 
rod  was  applied  as  a  means  of  punishment  and  reformation. 
To  beat  one's  wife  was  considered  in  Corsica,  as  everywhere 
else,  an  unpardonable  brutality ;  but  parents  as  well  as 
teachers  whipped  children  to  mould  them  into  noble,  re- 
fined, honorable  men. 

The  little  Napoleon  would  not  adapt  himself  to  the  bless- 
ings of  this  education,  and  the  mere  threats  of  the  rod- 
switching  deprived  the  child  of  his  senses  and  threw  him 
into  convulsions.  But  though  the  little  Napoleon  was 
gloomy,  monosyllabic,  and  quiet,  yet  was  he  from  early 
childhood  the  favorite  of  all  who  knew  him,  and  he  already 
wielded  over  brothers,  sisters,  and  companions,  a  wonderful 
influence. 

When  a  boy  of  four  years  old,  Letitia  sent  him  to  a  sort 


38  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

of  play-school,  where  boys  and  girls  amused  themselves  to- 
gether and  learned  the  ABC.  The  young  Napoleon  was 
soon  the  soul  of  the  little  company.  The  boys  obeyed  him, 
and  submitted. to  his  will ;  the  girls  trembled  before  him,  and 
yet  with  a  smile  they  pressed  toward  him  merely  to  be  near 
him  and  to  have  a  place  at  his  side.  And  the  four-year 
child  already  practised  a  tender  chivalry.  One  of  his  little 
school-companions  had  made  an  impression  on  his  heart; 
he  honored  her  with  special  favors,  sat  at  her  side  during 
the  lessons,  and  when  they  left  school  to  return  home,  the 
little  Napoleon  never  missed,  with  complete  gravity  of  coun- 
tenance, to  offer  his  arm  to  his  favorite  of  five  years  of  age 
and  to  accompany  her  to  her  home.  But  the  sight  of  this 
gallant,  with  his  diminutive,  compact,  and  broad  figure,  over 
which  the  large  head,  with  its  earnestness  of  expression, 
seemed  so  incongruous,  and  which  moved  on  with  so  much 
gravity,  while  the  socks  fell  from  the  naked  calves  over  the 
heels — all  this  excited  the  merriment  of  the  other  children ; 
and  when,  arm-in-arm  with  his  little  schoolmate,  he  thus 
moved  on,  the  other  urchins  in  great  glee  shouted  after  him : 
'■'' Napoleotm  di  mezza  calzetta  dalV  amore  a  Giacominetta  !  " 
("  Napoleon  in  socks  is  the  lover  of  the  little  Giacominetta ! ") 

The  boy  endured  these  taunts  with  the  stoic  composure 
of  a  philosopher,  but  never  after  did  he  offer  his  arm  to  the 
little  Giacominetta,  and  never  afterward  did  his  socks  hang 
down  over  his  heels. 

When  from  this  "  mixed  school "  he  passed  into  a  boys' 
school,  the  little  Napoleon  distinguished  himself  above  all 
the  other  boys  by  his  ambition,  his  deep  jealousy,  his  perse- 
verance at  learning  and  studying,  and  he  soon  became  the 
favorite  of  the  Abbe  Recco,*  who  taught  at  the  royal  col- 

*  Napoleon,  in  his  testament,  written  at  St.  Helena,  willed  a  fixed 
sura  of  money  to  this  Professor  Recco,  in  gratitude  for  the  instruction 
given  him  in  his  youth. 


THE  YOUNG  BONAPARTE.  29 

lege  of  Ajaccio  as  professor.  A  few  times  every  week  the 
worthy  professor  would  gather  his  pupils  in  a  large  hall,  to 
read  them  lectures  upon  ancient  history,  and  especially  upon 
the  history  of  Rome ;  and,  in  order  to  give  to  this  hall  a 
worthy  and  significant  ornament,  he  had  it  adorned  on  either 
side  with  two  large  and  costly  banners,  one  of  which  had  the 
initials  S.  P.  Q.  R.,  and  represented  the  standard  of  ancient 
Rome ;  facing  it  and  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall  was 
the  standard  of  Carthage. 

Under  the  shadows  of  these  standards  were  ranged  the 
seats  for  the  scholars,  and  in  the  vacant  centre  of  the  large 
hall  was  the  professor's  chair,  from  which  the  Abbe  Recco 
dictated  to  his  pupils  the  history  of  the  heroic  deeds  of 
ancient  Rome. 

The  elder  children  sat  under  the  larger  standard,  under 
the  standard  of  Rome,  and  the  junior  boys  immediately  op- 
posite, under  the  standard  of  Carthage ;  and  as  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  was  the  youngest  scholar  of  the  institution,  he  sat 
near  the  Carthaginian  standard,  whilst  his  brother  Joseph, 
his  senior  by  five  years,  had  his  seat  facing  him  on  the  Ro- 
man side.  Though  at  the  commencement  of  the  lectures 
Napoleon's  delight  had  been  great,  and  though  he  had  lis- 
tened with  enthusiasm  to  the  history  of  the  struggles,  and 
to  the  martial  achievements  of  the  ancient  Romans,  the  lit- 
tle Napoleon  soon  manifested  an  unmistaken  repugnance 
to  attend  these  lectures.  He  would  turn  pale,  as  with  his 
brother  he  entered  the  hall,  and  with  head  bowed  low,  and 
dark,  angry  countenance,  took  his  seat.  A  few  days  after- 
ward he  declared  to  his  brother  Joseph,  his  lips  drawn  in  by 
anguish,  that  he  would  no  more  attend  the  lectures. 

"And  why  not?"  asked  Joseph,  astonished.  "Do  you 
take  no  interest  in  the  Roman  history  ?  Can  you  not  follow 
the  lecture?" 

The  little  Napoleon  darted  upon  his  brother  a  look  of 
inexpressible  contempt.     "I  would  be  a  simpleton  if  the 


30  THE   EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

history  of  heroes  did  not  interest  me,"  said  he,  "  and  I  un- 
derstand everything  the  good  Professor  Recco  says — I  under- 
stand  it  so  well  that  I  often  know  beforehand  what  his  war- 
riors and  heroes  will  do." 

"  Well,  then,  since  you  have  such  a  lively  interest  in  the 
history  of  the  Romans,  why  will  you  no  more  follow  the 
lectures  ?  " 

"  No,  I  will  not,  I  cannot,"  murmured  Napoleon,  sadly. 

"  Tell  me,  at  least,  the  reason.  Napoleon,"  said  his  brother. 

The  boy  looked  straight  before  him,  for  a  long  time  hes- 
itating and  undecided ;  then  he  threw  up  his  head  in  a 
very  decided  manner,  and  gazed  on  his  brother  with  flam- 
ing eyes. 

"  Yes,"  cried  he,  passionately,  "  I  will  tell  you !  I  can 
no  longer  endure  the  shame  to  sit  down  under  the  standard 
of  the  conquered  and  humiliated  Carthaginians.  I  do  not 
deserve  to  be  so  disgraced." 

"  But,  Napoleon,"  said  Joseph,  laughing,  "  why  trouble 
yourself  about  the  standard  of  the  old  Carthaginians  ?  One 
is  just  as  well  under  it  as  under  the  Roman  standard." 

"  Is  it,  then,  the  same  to  you  under  which  standard  you 
sit  ?  Do  you  not  consider  it  as  a  great  honor  to  sit  under 
the  standard  of  the  victorious  Romans  ?  " 

"  I  look  upon  the  one  as  being  without  honor,  and  upon 
the  other  as  being  without  shame,"  said  Joseph,  smiling. 

"  If  it  is  so,"  cried  out  the  little  Napoleon,  throwing 
himself  on  his  brother's  neck,  "  if  it  is  for  you  no  great  sac- 
rifice, then,  I  implore  you  to  save  me,  to  make  me  happy, 
for  you  can  do  it!  Let  us  change  seats;  give  me  your 
place  under  the  standard  of  Rome,  and  take  my  place 
instead." 

Joseph  declared  himself  ready  to  do  so,  and  when  the 
two  brothers  came  next  time  to  the  lecture.  Napoleon,  with 
uplifted  head  and  triumphant  countenance,  took  his  seat 
under  the  standard  of  victorious  Rome. 


THE  YOUNG   BONAPARTE.  31 

But  soon  the  expression  of  joy  faded  away  from  his  face, 
and  his  features  were  overcast,  and  with  a  restless,  sad  look, 
he  repeatedly  turned  himself  toward  his  brother  Joseph, 
who  sat  facing  him  under  the  standard  of  the  conquered  race. 

Silent  and  sad  he  went  home  with  Joseph,  and  when  his 
mother  questioned  him  about  the  cause  of  his  sorrow,  he 
confessed,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  he  was  a  heartless 
egotist,  that  he  had  been  unjust  and  cruel  toward  Joseph, 
that  he  had  cheated  his  brother  of  his  place  of  honor  and 
had  seated  himself  in  it. 

It  required  the  most  earnest  assurances  of  Joseph  that 
he  placed  no  value  whatever  on  the  seat ;  it  required  all  the 
persuasiveness  and  authority  of  Letitia  to  appease  the  boy, 
and  to  prevail  upon  him  to  resume  the  conquered  seat.* 

As  the  course  of  instruction  which  the  boys  had  re- 
ceived in  Ajaccio  was  not  sufficient  for  the  times,  and  for 
the  capacities  of  his  sons,  their  father  passed  over  to  France 
with  Joseph  and  Napoleon,  to  take  advantage  of  the  favor- 
able resources  for  a  more  complete  education. 

Napoleon  saw  the  time  of  departure  approach  with  an 
apparently  indifferent  mind,  only  his  face  was  somewhat 
paler,  he  was  still  more  monosyllabic  and  more  reserved 
than  before ;  and  his  eyes,  full  of  an  indescribable  expression 
of  tenderness  and  admiration,  followed  all  the  movements 
of  his  mother,  as  if  to  print  deeply  in  his  soul  the  beloved 
image,  so  as  to  take  it  with  him  beyond  the  seas,  in  all  its 
freshness  and  beauty. 

He  wept  not  as  he  bade  her  farewell ;  not  a  word  of 
sorrow  or  regret  did  he  speak,  but  he  embraced  his  mother 
with  impassioned  fondness,  he  kissed  her  hands,  her  fore- 
head, her  large  black  eyes,  he  sank  down  before  her  and 
kissed  her  feet,  then  sprang  up,  and,  after  casting  upon  her 
whole  figure  a  deep,  glowing  look,  he  rushed  away  to  em- 

•  "  Memoires  du  Roi  Joseph,"  vol.  i.,  p.  40. 


32  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

bark  at  once,  without  waiting  for  brother  or  father,  who 
were  yet  bidding  a  touching  farewell  to  relatives  and  friends. 

Letitia  gazed  after  her  Napoleon  with  glowing  and  wide- 
open  eyes;  she  wept  not,  she  complained  not,  but  she 
pressed  her  two  hands  on  her  heart  as  if  to  keep  it  from 
breaking  asunder,  from  bleeding  to  death ;  then  she  called 
all  her  children  around  her,  and,  folding  them  up  in  her 
arms,  exclaimed  :  "  Join  your  hands  and  pray  with  me  that 
our  little  Napoleon  may  return  home  to  us  a  noble  and 
great  man." 

As  soon  as  they  had  prosperously  landed  in  France,  the 
father  placed  his  two  sons  in  the  college  of  Autun,  and  then 
travelled  farther  on  to  Paris,  there  to  obtain,  through  the 
influence  of  his  patrons  and  friends,  a  place  for  his  daughter 
Marianne  (afterward  Elise)  in  St.  Cyr,  an  institution  for  the 
daughters  of  noblemen,  and  also  a  place  for  Napoleon  in 
the  military  school  of  Brienne.  His  efforts  were  crowned 
with  success;  and  whilst  Joseph  remained  at  college  in 
Autun,  Napoleon  had  to  part  with  him  and  go  to  Brienne. 

When  the  brothers  bade  farewell  one  to  another,  Joseph 
wept  bitterly,  and  his  sighs  and  tears  choked  the  tender 
words  of  farewell  which  his  quivering  lips  would  have 
uttered. 

Napoleon  was  quiet,  and  as  his  eye  moistened  with  a 
tear,  he  endeavored  to  hide  it,  and  turned  aside  ashamed  of 
himself  and  nearly  indignant,  for  he  did  not  wish  the  Abb6 
Simon,  one  of  the  professors  of  the  college,  who  was  present 
at  the  parting  of  the  brothers,  to  see  his  unmanly  tender- 
ness. 

But  the  Abb6  Simon  had  seen  that  tear,  and  when 
Napoleon  was  gone  he  said  to  Joseph  :  "  Napoleon  has  shed 
but  one  tear,  but  that  tear  proves  his  deep  sorrow  as  much 
as  all  your  tears."  * 

*  "  Id^moires  du  Roi  Joseph,"  vol.  i.,  p.  2G. 


THE  YOUNU  BONAPARTE.  38 

Taciturn  and  quiet  as  he  had  been  in  Ajaccio,  the  little 
Napoleon  was  equally  so  at  the  military  school  of  Brienne, 
where  he  remained  from  his  eleventh  to  his  sixteenth  year. 
His  character  had  always  something  sombre  and  hidden; 
his  eye  seemed  turned  more  inwardly  than  outwardly  ;  and 
his  fellowship  with  his  books  seemed  to  procure  him  a  more 
pleasant  recreation  than  the  company  of  his  schoolmates, 
whose  childish  joys  and  pleasures  he  despised  or  pretended 
to  do  so,  because  his  limited  pecuniary  resources  did  not 
»llow  him  to  share  with  them  pleasures  of  an  expensive 
tiature. 

But,  though  still  and  reserved,  he  always  was  friendly 
and  courteous  to  his  comrades,  grateful  for  every  mark  of 
friendship  and  kindness,  and  always  ready  to  protect  the 
young  and  feeble  against  the  overbearing  and  the  strong, 
censuring  with  grave  authority  every  injustice,  and  with 
Spartan  harshness  throwing  his  contempt  into  the  very  face 
of  him  who,  according  to  his  standard,  had  offended  against 
honor,  the  lofty  spirit  and  the  dignity  of  a  freeman. 

It  could  not  fail  that  soon  Napoleon  should  win  over  his 
schoolmates  a  marked  moral  influence ;  that  they  would 
listen  to  him  as  if  he  were  their  superior ;  that  they  should 
feel  something  ^kin  to  fear  in  presence  of  the  flashing  eyes 
of  this  little  boy  of  barely  fourteen  years,  whose  pale,  ex- 
pressive countenance,  when  illumined  with  anger,  almost 
seemed  to  them  more  terrible  than  that  of  the  irritated  face 
of  the  teacher,  and  whom  they  therefore  more  willingly  and 
more  unconditionally  obeyed  than  the  principal  of  the  es' 
tablishment. 

One  day  the  latter  had  forbidden  the  scholars  to  go  to 
the  fair  in  a  neighboring  locality,  because  they  had  lately 
been  guilty  of  excesses  on  a  similar  occasion ;  and,  so  as  to 
be  sure  that  the  scholars  would  not  trespass  against  his 
orders,  the  principal  had  the  outside  gate  in  ihe  front  yard 
locked. 


84  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

This  last  circumstance  kindled  Napoleon's  anger;  he 
considered  it  as  an  insult  that  the  scholars  should  be  treated 
as  prisoners. 

"  Had  we  been  ordered  in  the  name  of  the  law  to  remain 
here,"  cried  he,  "then  honor  itself  would  have  claimed 
from  us  to  remain,  for  law  commands  obedience  to  our 
superiors.  But  since  we  are  treated  as  slaves,  who  are  by 
main  force  compelled  to  submission,  then  honor  claims  from 
us  to  prove  to  our  oppressors  that  we  are  free  beings,  and 
that  we  desire  to  remain  such.  We  are  treated  as  prisoners 
of  war,  kept  under  lock  and  bolt,  but  no  one  has  demanded 
our  word  of  honor  that  we  will  make  no  effort  to  escape 
this  subjection.  Whosoever  has  a  brave  heart  and  a  soul 
full  of  honor's  love,  let  him  follow  me ! " 

All  the  youngsters  followed  him  without  hesitation. 
More  submissive  to  this  pale,  small  boy  of  fourteen  years, 
than  to  the  severe,  strong,  and  exalted  principal,  none 
dared  oppose  him  as  he  stood  in  the  garden,  facing  a  remote 
place  in  the  wall,  and  giving  orders  to  undermine  it,  so  as 
to  make  an  outlet.  All  obeyed  the  given  orders,  all  were 
animated  with  burning  zeal,  with  cheerful  alacrity ;  and 
after  an  hour  of  earnest  labor  the  work  was  done,  and  the 
passage  under  the  wall  completed. 

The  scholars  wanted  to  rush  with  jubilant  cries  through 
the  opening,  and  gain  their  freedom  outside  of  the  wall,  but 
Napoleon  held  them  back. 

"  I  will  go  first,"  said  he.  "  I  have  been  your  leader 
throughout  this  expedition,  now  I  will  be  the  first  to  pass 
out,  that  upon  me  may  fall  the  punishment  when  we  are 
discovered." 

The  young  men  fell  back  silently  and  respectfully, 
while,  proud  and  stately  as  a  field-marshal  who  gives  the 
signal  for  the  battle.  Napoleon  passed  through  their  ranks, 
to  be  the  first  from  the  crowd  to  go  through  the  newly- 
made  passage. 


THE  YOUNG  BONAPARTE.  35 

It  could  not  fail  that  the  daring  of  these  "prisoners 
of  war  "  should  be  discovered,  that  the  principal  should  be 
the  very  same  day  informed  that  the  young  men  had,  not- 
withstanding his  strict  orders,  notwithstanding  the  closed 
gate,  made  a  way  for  themselves,  and  had  visited  the  pro- 
hibited fair,  while  the  principal  believed  them  to  be  in  the 
garden. 

A  strict  inquiry  took  place  the  next  morning.  With 
threatening  tones,  the  principal  ordered  the  young  men  to 
name  him  who  had  guided  them  to  so  unheard-of  a  deed, 
who  had  misled  them  into  disobedience  and  insubordination. 
But  all  were  still ;  none  wished  to  be  a  traitor,  not  even 
when  the  principal  promised  to  all  full  pardon,  full  impu- 
nity, if  they  would  but  name  the  instigator  of  their  guilty 
action. 

But  as  no  one  spoke,  as  no  one  would  name  him.  Napo- 
leon gave  himself  up  as  the  culpable  one. 

"  I  alone  am  guilty,"  cried  he,  proudly,  "  I  alone  deserve 
punishment.  These  have  done  only  what  I  commanded 
them — they  have  but  followed  my  orders,  nothing  more. 
The  guilt  and  the  punishment  are  mine  alone." 

The  principal,  glad  to  know  the  guilty  one,  kept  his 
promise,  and,  forgiving  the  rest,  decided  to  punish  only  the 
one  who  acknowledged  himself  to  have  been  the  leader. 

Napoleon  was,  therefore,  sentenced  to  the  severest  and 
most  degrading  punishment  known  in  the  institution — to 
the  so-called  "  monk's  penalty."  'That  is  to  say,  the  future 
young  soldier,  in  the  coarse  woollen  garment  of  a  mendicant 
friar,  was  on  his  knees,  to  devour  his  meal  from  an  earthen 
vessel  in  the  middle  of  the  dining-room,  while  all  the  other 
boys  were  seated  at  the  table. 

A  deathly  pallor  overspread  the  face  of  the  boy  when  he 
heard  this  sentence.  He  had  been  for  many  days  impris- 
oned in  a  cell  with  bread  and  water,  and  he  had  without  a 
murmur  submitted  to  this  correction,  endured  already  on  a 


86  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

former  occasion,  but  this  degrading  punishment  broke  his 
courage. 

Stunned,  as  it  were,  and  barely  conscious,  he  allowed  the 
costume  of  the  punishment  to  be  put  on,  but  when  he  had 
been  led  into  the  dining-room,  where  all  the  scholars  were 
gathered  for  the  noonday  meal,  when  he  was  forced  upon  his 
knees,  he  sank  down  to  the  ground  with  a  heavy  sigh,  and 
was  seized  with  violent  convulsions. 

The  rector  himself,  moved  with  deepest  sympathy  for 
the  wounded  spirit  of  the  boy,  hastened  to  raise  up  Napo- 
leon. At  the  same  moment  rushed  into  the  hall  one  of  the 
teachers  of  the  institution,  M.  Patrault,  who  had  just  been 
informed  of  the  execution  which  was  about  to  be  carried 
out  on  Napoleon.  With  tears  in  his  eyes,  he  hastened  to 
Napoleon,  and  with  trembling  hands  tore  from  his  shoulders 
the  detestable  garment,  and  broke  out  at  the  same  time  in 
loud  complaints  that  his  best  scholar,  his  first  mathematician, 
was  to  be  dishonored  and  treated  in  an  unworthy  manner. 

Napoleon,  however,  was  not  always  the  reserved,  grave 
boy  who  took  no  part  in  the  recreations  and  pleasures  of  the 
rest  of  his  young  schoolmates.  Whenever  these  amusements 
were  of  a  more  serious,  of  a  higher  nature.  Napoleon  gladly 
and  willingly  took  a  part  in  them.  Now  and  then  in  the 
institution,  on  festivals,  theatrical  representations  took  place, 
and  on  these  occasions  the  citizens  of  Brienne  were  allowed 
to  be  present. 

But  to  maintain  respectable  order,  every  one  who  desired 
to  be  present  at  the  representation  had  to  procure  a  card  of 
admission  signed  by  the  principal.  On  the  day  of  the  ex- 
hibition, at  the  different  doors  of  the  institution,  were  posted 
guards  who  received  the  admission  cards,  and  whose  strict 
orders  were  to  let  no  one  pass  in  without  them.  These  posts, 
which  were  filled  by  the  scholars,  were  under  the  supervision 
of  superior  and  inferior  officers,  and  were  confided  only  to 
the  most  distinguished  and  most  praiseworthy  students. 


THE  YOUNG  BONAPARTE.  37 

One  day,  Voltaire's  tragedy,  "  The  Death  of  Caesar,"  was 
exhibited.  Napoleon  had  the  post  of  honor  of  a  first  lieu- 
tenant for  this  festivity,  and  with  grave  earnestness  he  filled 
the  duties  of  his  office. 

Suddenly  at  the  entrance  of  the  garden  arose  a  loud 
noise  and  vehement  recriminations  of  threatening  and  abu- 
sive voices. 

It  was  Margaret  Haute,  the  porter's  wife,  who  wanted  to 
come  in,  though  she  had  no  card  of  admission.  She  was 
well  known  to  all  the  students,  for  at  the  gate  of  the  insti- 
tution she  had  a  little  stall  of  fruits,  eggs,  milk,  and  cakes, 
and  all  the  boys  purchased  from  her  every  day,  and  liked  to 
jest  and  joke  with  the  pleasant  and  obliging  woman. 

Margaret  Haute  had  therefore  considered  it  of  no  im- 
portance to  procure  a  card  of  admission,  which  thing  she 
considered  to  be  superfluous  for  such  an  important  and  well- 
known  personage  as  herself.  The  greater  was  her  astonish- 
ment and  anger  when  admission  was  refused,  and  she  there- 
fore began  to  clamor  loudly,  hoping  by  this  means  to  attract 
some  of  the  scholars,  who  would  recognize  her  and  procure 
her  admittance.  Meanwhile  the  post  guardian  dared  not 
act  without  superior  orders,  and  the  inferior  officer  hastened 
to  communicate  the  important  event  to  the  first  lieutenant. 
Napoleon  de  Bonaparte,  and  receive  his  decision. 

Napoleon,  who  ordinarily  was  kind  to  the  fruit-vender, 
and  gladly  jested  with  the  humorous  and  coarse  woman, 
listened  to  the  report  of  the  lieutenant  with  furrowed  brow 
and  dark  countenance,  and  with  severe  dignity  gave  his  or- 
ders :  "  Remove  that  woman,  who  takes  upon  herself  to  in- 
troduce licentiousness  into  the  camp."  * 

*  Afterward,  when  First  Consul,  Napoleon  sent  for  this  woman  and 
her  husband  to  come  to  Paris,  and  he  gave  them  the  lucrative  position 
of  porter  at  the  castle  of  Malmaisou,  which  charge  they  retained  unto 
their  death. 


38  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINK 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE   UNHAPPY   MARRIAGE. 

While  the  boy  Napoleon  de  Bonaparte  pursued  his 
studies  as  a  student  in  Brienne,  she,  who  was  one  day  to 
share  his  greatness  and  his  fame,  had  already  appeared  on 
the  world's  stage  as  the  wife  of  another.  Josephine  Tascher 
de  la  Pagerie  was  already  received  in  the  highest  society  of 
Paris  as  the  Viscountess  de  Beauharnais. 

Every  thing  seemed  to  promise  to  the  young  couple  a 
happy,  secure  future,  free  from  care.  They  were  both 
young,  wealthy,  of  good  family,  and  though  the  parents 
had  planned  this  marriage  and  joined  together  the  hands  of 
the  young  couple,  yet  it  was  their  good  fortune  that  love 
should  tie  and  strengthen  the  bond  which  mere  expediency 
had  formed. 

Yes,  they  loved  one  another,  these  young  married  people 
of  sixteen  and  eighteen.  How  could  it  have  been  other- 
wise, when  they  both  met  each  other  with  the  candid  and 
honest  desire  to  make  one  another  happy ;  when  each  of 
them  had  been  so  well  adapted  to  the  other  that  their  bril- 
liant, good,  and  beautiful  qualities  were  so  prominent  that 
their  eyes  were  blinded  to  the  possibility  of  imperfections 
and  vices  which  perchance  remained  in  the  obscure  back- 
ground of  their  virtue  and  of  their  amiableness  ? 

Josephin'-  had  entered  upon  her  marriage  with  a  pure 
maiden  heart,  and  soon  this  heart  glowed  with  enthusiasm 
for  her  young  husband,  who  in  reality  was  well  qualified  to 
excite  enthusiasm  in  a  young  maid  and  instil  into  her  a  pas- 
sionate attachment.  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  was  one  of 
the  most  brilliant  and  most  beloved  personages  at  the  court 
of  Versailles.  His  face  had  all  the  beauty  of  regularity ; 
his  figure,  marked  by  a  lofty,  even  if  somewhat  heavy  form, 


THE  UNHAPPY  MARRIAGE.  '       39 

was  tall,  well  knit,  and  of  wonderful  elasticity  and  energy ; 
his  manners  were  noble  and  prepossessing,  fine  and  natural. 
Even  in  a  court  so  distinguished  as  that  of  Versailles  for 
many  remarkable  chevaliers^  the  Viscount  de  Beauharnais 
was  considered  as  one  of  the  most  lovely  and  most  gifted  : 
even  the  young  Queen  Marie  Antoinette  honored  him  with 
special  distinction.  She  had  called  him  the  most  beautiful 
dancer  of  Versailles,  and  consequently  it  was  very  natural 
that  up  to  the  time  of  his  marriage  he  should  be  invited  to 
every  court-ball,  and  there  should  each  time  enjoy  the  pleas- 
ure of  being  requested  to  dance  with  the  queen. 

This  flattering  distinction  of  the  Queen  Marie  Antoi- 
nette had  naturally  made  the  young  viscount  the  mark  of 
attention  of  all  these  beautiful,  young,  and  coquettish  ladies 
of  Versailles.  They  used  to  say  of  him,  that  in  the  dancing- 
room  he  was  a  zephyr,  fluttering  from  flower  to  flower,  but 
at  the  head  of  his  regiment  he  was  a  Bayard,  dreaming  only 
of  war  and  carnage. 

It  was,  therefore,  quite  natural  that  so  brilliant  and  so 
preferred  a  cavalier,  a  young  man  of  so  many  varied  accom- 
plishments, a  being  so  impassioned,  so  gallant,  should  soon 
become  the  object  of  the  most  tender  and  passionate  fond- 
ness from  a  young  wife,  who  in  her  quiet  native  land  had 
seen  none  to  compare  with  him,  and  who  became  for  her 
the  ideal  of  beauty,  chivalry,  elegance,  and  whom,  in  her 
devoted  and  admiring  love,  she  used  to  call  her  own 
Achilles. 

Josephine  loved  her  husband ;  she  loved  him  with  all 

the  devotedness  and  fire  of  a  Creole;    she  loved  him  and 

breathed  but  for  him,  and  to  be  with  him  seemed  to  her 

life's  golden,  blessed  dream.     Added  to  all  this,  came  the 

joys  and  raptures  of  a  Parisian  life — these  new,  unknown, 

diversified  pleasures  of  society,  these  manifold  distractions 

and  entertainments  of  the  great  city.    Josephine  abandoned 

herself  to  all  this  with  the  joy  and  wantonness  of  an  inno- 
4 


40  THB  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

cent,  unsuspicious  being.  With  all  these  glorious  things 
round  about  her,  she  felt  as  if  surrounded  by  a  sea  of 
blessedness  and  pleasure,  and  she  plunged  into  it  with  the 
quiet  daring  of  innocency,  which  foresees  not  what  breakers 
and  abysses  this  sea  encloses  under  the  shining  surface. 

But  these  breakers  were  there,  and  against  them  was  the 
happiness  of  Josephine's  love  soon  to  be  dashed  to  pieces. 

She  loved  her  young  husband  with  her  whole  heart,  with 
all  her  soul.  But  he,  the  young,  the  flattered  Viscount 
Alexandre  de  Beauharnais,  he  also  loved  his  young  wife, 
whom  the  wish  and  will  of  his  superiors  had  placed  at  his 
side. 

He  had  not  chosen  her  because  he  loved  her,  but  only 
because  he  had  thought  it  expedient  and  advisable  to  be- 
come married,  and  because  the  unknown  Mademoiselle  de 
la  Pagerie  had  been  offered  to  him  as  "  a  good  settlement." 
Perhaps,  also,  he  had  contracted  this  marriage  to  get  rid  all 
at  once  of  those  manifold  ties,  intrigues,  and  attachments 
which  his  open,  unrestrained  life  of  youth  had  woven 
around  him,  for  his  marriage  with  the  young  Creole  had  put 
an  end  to  many  love-intrigues  which  perchance  threatened 
to  be  inconvenient  and  burdensome. 

At  first  charmed  by  her  foreign,  unaccustomed  appear- 
ance, transported  by  her  ingenuous  grace,  her  sweet,  lovely 
amiableness  and  freshness,  he  had  fully  decided  to  love  his 
young  wife,  and,  with  all  the  triumphant  pride  of  a  lover, 
he  had  led  Josephine  into  society,  into  the  saloons. 

But  his  eye  was  not  blinded  by  the  ravishment  of  a  real 
and  true  love,  and  in  the  drawing-room  he  saw  what,  in  the 
solitude  of  the  residence  of  Noisy,  where  the  young  couple 
had  retired  for  a  few  weeks  after  their  marriage,  he  might 
never  have  missed — he  saw  that  Josephine  possessed  not  the 
lofty  elegance  and  the  exquisite  manners  of  the  ladies  of 
the  Parisian  saloons.  She  always  was  a  charming,  artless, 
graceful  young  woman,  but  she  lacked  the  striking  advan- 


THE  UNHAPPY  MARRIAGE.  41 

tages  of  a  real  drawing-room  lady ;  she  lacked  that  perfect 
self-possession,  that  pliancy  of  refinement,  that  sparkling 
wit,  and  that  penetration,  which  then  characterized  the 
ladies  of  the  higher  Parisian  society,  and  which  the  young 
viscount  had  but  lately  so  fondly  and  passionately  admired 
in  the  beautiful  and  celebrated  Baroness  de  B. 

The  viscount  saw  all  these  deficiencies  of  his  young 
wife's  social  education,  and  this  darkened  his  brow  and 
brought  on  his  cheek  the  flush  of  shame.  He  was  cruel 
enough  to  reproach  Josephine,  in  somewhat  harsh  and  im- 
perious tones,  of  her  lack  of  higher  culture,  and  thus  the 
first  matrimonial  difference  clouded  the  skies  of  marriage 
happiness,  which  the  young  unsuspecting  wife  had  believed 
would  ever  be  bright  with  sunshine. 

Josephine,  however,  loved  her  young  husband  too  fondly 
not  to  cheerfully  comply  with  all  his  wishes,  not  to  strive  to 
replace  what  he  reproached  her  to  be  lacking. 

On  a  sudden  she  left  the  brilliant,  enchanting  Paris, 
which  had  entranced  her  with  its  many  joys  and  its  many 
distractions,  and,  as  her  husband  had  to  be  for  some  time  at 
Blois  with  his  regiment,  she  went  to  Noisy,  to  her  aunt's 
residence,  so  as  to  labor  at  her  higher  mental  culture,  at  the 
side  of  the  lovely  and  intellectual  Madame  de  Renaudin. 

Josephine  had  hitherto,  as  a  simple,  sentimental  young 
lady,  played  the  guitar,  and  chirped  with  it,  in  her  fresh 
but  uncultivated  voice,  her  sweet  songs  of  love.  She  gave 
up  the  guitar,  the  favorite  instrument  of  the  Creoles,  and 
exchanged  it  for  the  harp,  for  which  attainment  as  well  as 
for  the  art  of  singing  she  procured  the  best  and  ablest 
masters.  Even  a  dancing-master  had  to  come  to  Noisy  to 
give  to  the  young  viscountess  that  perfection  of  art  which 
would  enable  her,  without  fear,  to  dance  at  a  ball  alongside 
of  the  Viscount  de  Beauharnais,  "  the  beautiful  dancer  of 
Versailles."  With  her  aunt  she  read  the  works  of  the 
writers  and  poets  who  were  then  praised  and  loved,  and 


42  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

with  wonderful  predilection  she  also  studied  botany,  to 
which  science  she  ever  clung  during  her  life,  and  which 
threw  on  her  existence  gleams  of  joy  when  the  sun  of  her 
happiness  had  long  set. 

Josephine,  who  out  of  pure  love  for  her  husband  learned 
and  studied  zealously,  conynunicated  to  the  viscount,  in  hei 
letters,  every  advancement  she  made  in  her  studies ;  and 
she  was  proud  and  happy  when  he  applauded  her  efforts, 
and  when  in  his  letters  he  praised  her  assiduity  and  her 
progress. 

But  evidently  these  letters  of  the  viscount  contained 
nothing  of  that  love  and  ardor  which  the  young  fiery  Creole 
longed  for  from  her  husband ;  they  were  not  the  utterances 
of  a  young,  anxious  lover,  of  an  enthusiastic,  worshipping 
husband ;  but  they  were  addressed  to  Josephine  with  the 
quiet,  cool  benignity  of  a  considerate  friend,  of  a  mentor,  of  - 
a  tutor  who  knows  full  well  how  much  above  his  pupil  soars 
his  own  mind,  and  with  what  supreme  deference  this  pupil 
must  look  up  to  him. 

"  I  am  delighted,"  wrote  he  once — "  delighted  at  your 
zeal  to  acquire  knowledge  and  culture ;  this  zeal,  which  we 
must  ever  cherish,  is  ever  the  source  of  purest  enjoyments, 
and  possesses  the  glorious  advantage,  when  we  follow  its  dic- 
tates, of  never  producing  any  grief.  If  you  persevere  in 
the  resolution  you  have  taken,  if  you  continue  to  labor  with 
unabated  zeal  at  your  personal  improvement,  be  assured  that 
the  knowledge  you  will  have  acquired  will  exalt  you  highly 
above  all  others ;  and  whereas  science  and  modesty  will  be 
combined  in  you,  you  will  succeed  in  becoming  an  accom- 
plished woman.  The  talents  which  you  cultivate  have  their 
pleasant  side,  and  if  you  devote  to  them  a  portion  of  the 
day,  you  will  unite  the  agreeable  to  the  useful."  * 

This  is  what  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  wanted.    His 

*  "Histoire  de  I'lrap^ratrice  Josephine,"  vol.  i.,  p.  110. 


THE  UNHAPPY  MARRIAGE.  43 

wife,  through  her  knowledge,  was  to  be  highly  exalted  above 
all  others.  She  was  to  study  the  sciences,  and  become  what 
is  now  called  a  learned  woman,  but  what  was  then  termed  a 
philosophical  woman. 

The  ambition  of  the  ardent  viscount  required  that  his 
young  wife  should  be  the  rival  of  his  learned,  verse-writing 
aunt,  the  Baroness  Fanny  de  Beauharnais ;  that  Josephine, 
if  not  the  most  beautiful  and  most  intellectual  woman  of 
Paris,  should  be  the  most  accomplished. 

But  these  extravagant  expectations  did  not,  unfortu- 
nately, coincide  entirely  with  the  tastes  and  mental  tenden- 
cies of  Josephine.  No  one  was  less  qualified  than  she  to  be. 
a  philosophical  woman,  and  to  make  the  sciences  a  serious 
study.  It  was  far  from  her  ambition  to  desire  to  shine  by 
her  knowledge ;  and  the  learned  and  scientific  Baroness  de 
Beauharnais  only  excited  fear  and  antagonism  on  account 
of  her  stiff  and  pretentious  pedantry,  which  seemed  to  Jose- 
phine to  have  but  little  in  harmony  with  a  woman's  being. 

Josephine  loved  the  sciences  and  the  arts,  but  she  did 
not  wish  to  convert  herself  into  their  devoted  priestess.  She 
wished  merely  to  adorn  herself  with  their  blossoms,  to  take 
delight  in  their  fragrance,  and  to  rejoice  in  their  beauty. 
With  instinctive  sentiment  she  did  not  wish  to  have  the 
grace  and  youthful  freshness  of  her  womanly  appearance 
marred  by  knowledge ;  her  heart  longed  not  for  the  ambi- 
tion of  being  called  a  learned  woman ;  she  only  wished  to 
be  a  beloved  wife. 

But  the  viscount,  instead  of  recognizing  and  cherishing 
the  tender  and  sacred  treasures  which  reposed  in  the  heart 
of  his  young  wife,  ridiculed  her  for  her  sensitiveness ;  al- 
lowed himself,  through  displeasure  at  her  uncultivated  mind, 
to  utter  unreasonable  reproaches,  and  to  act  harshly  toward 
his  wife ;  and  her  tears  were  not  calculated  to  conciliate  him 
or  to  gain  his  heart.  He  treated  Josephine  with  a  sort  of 
contemptuous  compassion,  with  a  mocking  superiority,  and 


44  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

her  young,  deeply-wounded  soul,  intimidated  and  bleeding, 
shrank  back  into  itself.  Josephine  became  tacitnrn,  embar- 
rassed, and  mute,  in  her  husband's  presence ;  she  preferred 
being  silent,  rather  than  by  her  conversation,  which  might 
not  appear  intellectual  and  piquant  enough  for  the  viscount, 
to  annoy  and  irritate  him. 

Confidence  and  harmony  had  flown  away  from  the  house- 
hold of  the  young  couple.  From  his  timid,  silent  wife,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes  and  a  mute  complaint  on  her  trembling 
lips,  the  husband  rushed  away  into  the  world,  into  society, 
to  the  boisterous  joys  of  a  garrison's  life,  or  else  to  the  dan- 
gerous, intoxicating  amusements  which  the  refined  world  of 
the  drawing-rooms  offered  him. 

Scarcely  after  a  two  years'  marriage,  the  young  bride- 
groom was  again  the  zephyr  of  the  drawing-room;  and, 
breaking  asunder  the  bonds  with  which  the  marriage  and 
the  household  had  bound  him,  he  fluttered  again  from  flower 
to  flower,  was  once  more  the  gallant  cavalier  of  the  belles, 
forgot  duty  and  wife,  to  pay  his  attentions  and  bring  his 
homage  to  the  ladies  of  the  court. 

But  this  neglect  which  she  now  experienced  from  her 
husband,  this  evident  preference  for  other  women,  suddenly 
awoke  Josephine  from  her  painful  resignation,  from  her 
quiet  melancholy.  The  young,  patient,  retreating  wife  was 
changed  at  once  into  an  irritated  lioness,  and,  amid  the  re- 
finements of  the  French  polish,  with  all  its  gilded  accom- 
paniments, uprose  the  glowing,  impassioned,  threatening 
Creole. 

Josephine,  wounded  both  in  her  vanity  and  in  her  love 
— Josephine  wished  not  and  could  not  bear,  as  a  passive, 
silent  sufferer,  the  neglect  of  her  husband ;  he  had  insulted 
her  as  a  woman,  and  the  wrath  of  a  woman  rose  within  her. 
She  screened  not  her  jealousy  from  her  husband ;  she  re- 
proached him  for  preferring  other  women  to  his  wife,  for 
neglecting  her  for  the  sake  of  others,  and  she  required  that 


THE  UNHAPPY  MARRIAGE.  46 

to  her  alone  he  should  do  homage,  that  to  her  alone  he 
should  consecrate  love  and  allegiance.  She  wept,  she  com- 
plained, when  she  learned  that,  whilst  she  was  left  at  home 
unnoticed,  he  had  been  here  and  there  in  the  company  of 
other  women ;  she  allowed  herself  to  be  so  carried  away  by 
jealousy  as  to  make  violent  reproaches  against  her  husband. 

But  tears  and  reproaches  are  not  in  the  least  calculated 
to  bring  back  to  a  wife  the  heart  of  a  husband,  and  jealousy 
recalls  not  a  husband's  love,  when  that  love  has  unfolded  his 
pinions  and  flown  away.  It  only  causes  the  poor  butterfly 
to  feel  that  marriage  had  tied  its  wings  with  a  thread,  and 
that  it  constantly  recalls  him  away,  with  the  severe  admoni- 
tions of  duty,  from  the  beautiful  flowers  toward  which  he 
desires  to  fly. 

The  complaints  and  reproaches  of  Josephine,  however 
much  they  proved  her  love,  had  precisely  the  contrary  effect 
from  what  she  expected.  Through  them  she  wanted  to 
bring  back  her  husband  to  her  love,  but  she  repelled  him 
further  still ;  he  flew  away  from  her  complaints  to  the  mer- 
ry society  of  his  friends,  male  and  female,  and  left  Josephine 
alone  at  Noisy  to  weep  over  her  wretchedness. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  they  were  both  to  be  again  re- 
united one  to  another  in  a  new  bond  of  love  and  happiness. 
On  the  3d  of  September,  1781,  Josephine  presented  to  her 
husband  a  son,  the  heir  of  his  name,  and  for  whom  the 
father  had  already  so  long  craved.  Alexandre  came  to  Noisy 
to  be  present  at  the  birth  of  his  child,  and  with  true,  sincere 
affection  he  embraced  son  and  mother,  and  swore  everlast- 
ing love  and  fldelity  to  both. 

But  circumstances  were  stronger  than  the  will  of  this 
young  man  of  twenty-two  years.  The  monotonous  life  of 
Noisy,  the  quietude  which  prevailed  in  the  house  on  account 
of  the  young  mother,  could  not  long  retain  captive  the  fiery 
young  man.  He  endured  this  life  of  solitude,  of  watching 
at  the  bedside,  of  listening  to  the  child's  cries,  for  a  whole 


46  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

week,  and  then  was  drawn  away  with  irresistible  attraction 
to  Paris ;  the  father's  tenderness  could  no  longer  restrain 
the  glowing  ardor,  the  impassioned  longings  for  distraction 
in  the  young  man ;  and  the  viscount  left  Noisy  to  lead  once 
more  in  Paris  or  with  his  garrison  the  free,  unrestrained 
dissipations  of  his  earlier  days. 

Josephine  was  comfortless.  She  had  hoped  the  son 
would  retain  the  father,  but  he  left  her  alone,  alone  with 
the  child,  and  with  all  the  torments  of  her  jealousy. 

It  is  true,  he  came  back  now  and  then  to  see  his  son,  his 
little  Eugene,  and  also  to  make  amends  to  the  young,  sick, 
and  suffering  mother,  by  a  few  days'  presence,  for  the  many 
days  of  absence. 

But  Josephine,  irritated,  jealous,  too  young,  too  inexpe- 
rienced to  reflect,  Josephine  committed  the  fault  of  receiv- 
ing her  husband  every  time  he  came,  with  reproaches  and 
complaints,  and  of  meeting  him  with  violent  scenes  of 
jealousy  and  of  offended  dignity.  The  viscount  himself, 
so  young,  so  impassioned,  had  not  the  patience  to  go  with 
calm  indifference  through  the  purgatory  of  such  scenes. 
His  proud  heart  rebelled  against  the  chains  with  which  mar- 
riage would  bind  him  ;  he  was  angry  with  this  woman  who 
dared  reproach  him ;  he  was  the  more  vexed  that  his  con- 
science told  him  she  was  unjust  toward  him,  that  he  was  the 
innocent  one.  He  returned  her  complaints  with  deriding 
acorn;  he  allowed  himself  to  be  carried  away  by  her  re- 
proaches to  the  manifestation  of  violent  anger ;  and  the 
tempest  of  matrimonial  discord  raged  through  this  house, 
which  at  first  seemed  to  have  been  built  for  a  temple  of 
peace  and  happiness. 

The  parents  of  the  young  couple  saw  with  deep,  heart- 
felt concern  the  gap  deepening  between  them  both,  and 
which  every  day  widened  more  and  more,  and  as  their  warn- 
ings and  wishes  now  remained  fruitless,  they  resolved  to  try 
if  a  long  absence  might  not  heal  the  wounds  which  they 


THE  UNHAPPY   MARRIAGE.  47 

both  had  inflicted  upon  their  own  hearts.  At  the  request 
of  his  father  and  of  Madame  de  Renaudin,  the  viscount  un- 
dertook a  long  journey  to  Italy,  from  which  he  returned 
only  after  nearly  nine  months'  absence. 

What  the  relatives  had  hoped  from  this  journey  seemed 
to  be  realized.  The  viscount  returned  home  to  his  Jose- 
phine with  a  penitent,  tender  heart ;  and  Josephine,  en- 
chanted with  his  tenderness,  with  the  pliant  loveliness  of 
his  whole  being — Josephine,  with  a  smile  of  blessedness  and 
with  happy  dreams  of  the  future,  rested  once  more  on  the 
bosom  of  the  man  whom,  even  in  her  angry  moods,  she  had 
never  ceased  to  love. 

But  after  a  few  months  passed  in  happiness  and  har- 
mony, the  viscount  was  once  more  obliged  to  separate  him- 
self from  his  wife,  to  meet  his  regiment,  which  was  now  in 
Verdun.  Absence  soon  broke  the  slender  threads  which 
had  bound  together  the  hearts  of  husband  and  wife.  Alex- 
andre abandoned  himself  to  his  tendencies  to  dissipation, 
and  Josephine  to  her  jealousy.  During  the  frequent  visits 
which  the  viscount  paid  to  his  wife  in  Noisy,  he  was  re- 
ceived with  tears  and  reproaches,  which  always  ended  in 
violent  scenes  of  anger  and  bitterness. 

Such  an  existence,  full  of  ever-recurring  storms  and 
ceaseless  discord,  weighed  heavily  on  the  hearts  of  both  hus- 
band and  wife,  and  made  them  long  for  an  issue  from  this 
labyrinth  of  an  unhappy  marriage.  Yet  neither  of  them 
dreamed  of  a  separation ;  not  only  their  son,  the  little 
Eugene,  kept  them  from  such  thoughts,  but  also  the  new 
hopes  which  Josephine  carried  in  her  bosom  would  have 
made  such  thoughts  appear  criminal.  It  was  necessary  to 
endeavor  to  bear  life  as  well  as  one  could,  and  not  allow 
one's  self  to  be  too  much  lacerated  by  its  thorns,  even  if 
there  was  no  further  hope  of  gathering  its  roses. 

Alexandre  de  Beauharnais,  even  if  he  lacked  the  skill  of 
being  a  faithful,  devoted  husband,  was  a  noble  and  good- 


48  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINK 

natured  man,  whose  generous  heart  wanted  to  punish  him- 
self alone  for  the  error  of  this  marriage,  which  weighed  so 
heavily  on  hushand  and  wife  ;  and,  in  order  to  procure 
peace  to  both,  he  resolved  to  become  an  exile,  to  tear  away 
pitilessly  the  attractive  ties  which  society,  friends,  and 
women,  had  woven  around  him.  If  he  could  not  be  a 
good  husband,  he  might  at  least  be  a  good  soldier;  and, 
whereas  his  heart  could  not  adopt  the  resolution  of  de- 
voting itself  with  exclusive  affection  to  his  wife,  he  re- 
solved to  devote  himself  entirely  to  that  love  to  which  he 
had  never  been  disloyal,  the  love  of  fame.  His  ambitious 
nature  longed  for  honors  and  distinction  ;  his  restless,  youth- 
ful courage  craved  for  action  and  battle-fields ;  and,  as  no 
opportunity  offered  itself  on  land,  Alexandre  de  Beauhar- 
nais  decided  to  search  on  the  seas  for  what  was  denied  him 
on  land. 

The  Marquis  de  Bouille,  governor  of  Martinique,  had 
just  arrived  in  France,  to  propose  to  the  government  a  new 
expedition  against  the  British  colonies  in  the  Antilles. 
Already  this  fearless  and  enterprising  man,  since  he  had 
been  in  Martinique,  with  the  forces  at  his  disposal,  with  the 
help  of  the  young  Creoles,  and  supported  by  the  squadrons 
which  lay  in  Port  Royal,  had  conquered  Dominique,  Gre- 
nada, St.  Vincent,  St.  Christophe,  Mi^vres,  and  Montserrat, 
and  now  he  c6ntemplated  an  attack  upon  the  rich  and  im- 
portant island  of  Jamaica,  whose  conquest  he  trusted  would 
force  the  English  into  peace. 

Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  wanted  nothing  more  attract- 
ive than  to  join  this  important  and  daring  enterprise  of  the 
Marquis  de  Bouille.  With  recommendations  from  his  un- 
cle, the  Duke  de  la  Rochefoucauld,  the  viscount  hastened  to 
the  Marquis  de  Bouill6,  begged  of  him  instantly  the  privi- 
lege of  serving  under  him,  and  offered  his  services  as  adju- 
tant. 

The  marquis  received  with  kindness  a  young  man  so 


THE  UNHAPPY  MARRIAGE.  49 

earnestly  recommended,  and  gave  him  the  hope  of  fulfilling 
his  wishes.  These  hopes  were  not,  however,  realized ;  and 
the  viscount,  no  longer  able  to  endure  the  burden  of  uncer- 
tainty and  of  domestic  discord,  decided  to  leave  France  on 
his  own  responsibility,  to  sail  for  Martinique,  and  there  to 
enlist  as  a  simple  volunteer,  under  the  orders  of  the  gov- 
ernor. 

In  September,  1782,  he  left  Noisy  for  Brest,  there  to 
embark  for  Martinique.  At  the  hour  of  departure  the 
love,  which  for  so  long  had  been  hidden  under  the  dark 
cloud  of  jealousy  and  discord,  awoke  in  all  its  glow  and  en- 
ergy in  the  hearts  of  the  young  couple.  With  streaming 
eyes  Josephine  embraced  her  husband,  and  in  the  most 
touching  tones  entreated  him  to  remain  with  her,  entreated 
him  not  to  tear  the  father  away  from  the  son,  who  already 
recognized  him  and  stretched  his  little  hands  toward  him, 
nor  from  the  child  yet  unborn  in  her  bosom.  Carried  away 
by  so  much  intensity  of  affection,  by  such  a  fond,  all-par- 
doning love,  Alexandre  was  deeply  moved ;  he  regretted  the 
past,  and  the  decision  he  had  taken  to  leave  his  wife  and 
his  family.  All  the  sweet  emotions  of  peace,  of  home,  of 
paternal  bliss,  of  married  life,  overcame  him  in  this  hour  of 
farewell  with  resistless  power,  and  in  Josephine's  arms  he 
wept  bitter  tears  of  repentance,  of  love,  of  farewell. 

But  these  tears,  no  more  than  his  wife's  regrets,  could 
make  him  waver  in  his  determination. 

The  word  of  separation  had  been  spoken,  and  it  had  to 
be  fulfilled.  Amid  the  anguish  of  parting,  he  felt  for  him- 
self the  necessity  of  breaking,  by  means  of  a  long  absence, 
with  the  evil  practices  of  the  past,  and  to  make  amends  for 
the  sad  errors  of  his  youth. 

He  left  his  home  to  win  in  a  distant  land  the  happiness 
which  he  had  in  vain  sought  at  the  side  of  his  wife,  of  his 
son,  and  of  his  family.  Before  the  ship  upon  which  he  was 
to  embark  for  his  journey  weighed  anchor,  he  took  a  last 


60  1'HE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

farewell  of  his  family  in  a  letter  addressed  to  Madame  de 
Kenaudin. 

"  I  have,"  said  he,  "  received  the  letter  which  tells  of 
your  good  wishes  for  the  future,  and  I  have  read  with  the 
deepest  interest  the  assurances  of  your  attachment.  These 
assurances  would  still  have  been  more  flattering  to  me,  could 
they  have  convinced  me  that  my  actual  course  has  your 
approbation,  and  that  you  estimate  rightly  my  determina- 
tion, and  the  sacrifice  I  am  making.  However,  I  have  on 
my  side  conscience,  which  applauds  me  for  preferring,  to 
the  real,  actual  joys  of  a  quiet  and  pleasurable  existence,  the 
prospect,  even  if  a  remote  one,  of  preferment,  which  may 
secure  me  a  distinguished  position  and  a  distinction  which 
may  be  of  advantage  to  my  children.  The  greater  have 
been  my  sacrifices,  the  more  commendable  it  is  to  have 
made  them ;  and  if  chance  only  favors  my  determination, 
then  the  laurels  I  will  win  shall  make  ample  amends  for  all 
troubles  and  hardships,  and  shall  change  all  my  anguish 
into  joy ! — Be  kind  enough,  I  pray  you,  to  embrace  for  me, 
my  father,  my  wife,  and  Eugene  ! "  * 

It  is  evident  that  Alexandre  de  Beauhamais  had  gone  to 
Martinique  to  win  fame  and  to  fight  for  laurels.  But  chance 
favored  not  his  resolves.  He  had  no  sooner  landed  in 
Martinique,  than  the  news  spread  that  negotiations  had 
begun  between  England  and  France.  M.  de  Bouille  re- 
ceived strict  orders  to  make  no  attack  on  Jamaica ;  and  a 
few  weeks  after,  on  the  20th  of  January,  1783,  the  pre- 
liminaries of  peace  were  signed  at  Versailles.  A  few  months 
later,  peace  was  concluded,  and  all  the  conquests  made  by 
the  Marquis  de  Bouille  were  returned  to  England. 

Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  had  then  come  in  vain  to 
Martinique.  No  fame  was  to  be  won — no  laurels  could  b« 
gathered  there. 

V 

*  "  Histoire  de  I'lniperatrice  Josephine,"  vol.  i,  p.  138. 


THE   UNHAPPY  MARRIAGE.  51 

Unfortunately,  however,  the  viscount  found  another  oc- 
cupation for  his  restless  heart,' for  the  vague  cravings  of  his 
affections.  He  made  the  acquaintance  there  with  a  young 
Creole,  who  had  beerf  a  widow  for  the  last  six  months,  and  who 
had  returned  to  Martinique  from  France  to  pass  there  her 
year's  mourning.  But  her  heart  had  no  mourning  for  her 
deceased  husband ;  it  longed  for  Paris,  it  craved  for  the  world 
and  its  joys.  She  was  yet,  though  a  few  years  older  than 
the  viscount,  a  young  woman ;  she  was  beautiful — of  tliat 
wondrous,  enticing  beauty  peculiar  to  the  Creoles ;  she  was 
an  accomplished  mistress  in  the  difficult  art  of  pleasing,  and 
she  formed  the  design  of  gaining  the  heart  of  the  impulsive 
Viscount  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais.  This  design  was  not 
undertaken  because  he  seemed  worthy  of  love,  but  because 
she  wanted  to  revenge  herself  on  the  family  of  Tascher  de 
la  Pagerie,  which  family  had  been  for  a  long  time  at  enmity 
with  her  own,  and  had  given  free  and  open  expression 
against  the  too  easy  manners  and  light  behavior  of  the 
beautiful  widow.  She  wanted  to  take  vengeance  for  these 
insults  by  seducing  from  M.  de  la  Pagerie  his  own  son-in- 
law,  and  by  enjoying  the  triumph  of  having  charmed  away 
the  husband  from  his  daughter. 

The  proverb  says,  "  What  woman  will,  woman  can ! " 
and  what  the  beautiful  Madame  de  Gisard  wanted  was  not 
so  very  hard  to  achieve.  All  she  wished  was  to  hold  complete 
sway  over  the  heart  of  a  young  man  who  felt  heavily  bur- 
dened with  the  fetters  of  marriage;  who,  now  that  the 
schemes  of  ambition  had  failed,  reproached  his  young  wife 
that  she  was  the  cause  of  his  misfortune ;  that  for  her  sake 
he  had  exiled  himself  from  home,  and  sentenced  himself  to 
the  dulness  and  loneliness  of  a  village-life  in  Martinique. 
The  society  of  the  beautiful  Madame  de  Gisard  brought  at 
least  novelty  and  distraction  to  this  loneliness;  she  gave 
occupation  to  the  heart  weary  with  connubial  storms ;  she 
excited  his  fancy  and  his  desires. 


52  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Madame  de  Gisard  knew  how  to  use  all  these  advan- 
tages ;  she  wanted  to  triumph  over  the  family  of  De  la 
Pagerie,  she  wanted  to  return  to  Paris  in  the  company  of  a 
young,  handsome,  and  distinguished  lover. 

It  was  not  enough  to  win  the  love  of  the  viscount ;  she 
had  to  drive  him  into  the  resolution  of  separating  from  his 
wife,  of  accusing  her  of  unfaithfulness  and  guilt,  so  as  to 
have  the  right  of  casting  her  away,  in  order  that  she  herself 
might  openly  occupy  her  place.  Madame  de  Gisard  had  the 
requisite  talent  to  carry  out  her  plans,  and  to  acquire  full 
control  over  the  otherwise  rebellious  and  proud  heart  of  the 
young  man.  She  first  began  to  lead  him  into  open  rupture 
with  his  father  and  mother-in-law.  Through  respect  for 
them,  the  viscount  had  avoided  appearing  in  public  with 
Madame  de  Gisard,  and  betraying  the  intimacy  which  ex- 
isted between  them.  Madame  de  Gisard  ridiculed  his  bash- 
fulness  and  submissive  spirit ;  she  considered  this  servility 
to  the  head  of  the  family  as  absurd,  and  she  drove  the  vis- 
count by  means  of  scorn  and  sarcasm  to  open  revolt. 

Then,  after  separating  him  from  his  wife's  family,  she  at- 
tacked the  wife  herself.  With  all  the  cunning  and  smooth- 
ness of  a  seducing  demon,  she  encompassed  the  young  man's 
heart,  and  filled  it  with  mistrust  against  Josephine.  She  ac- 
cused the  forsaken  one  with  levity  and  unfaithfulness ;  she 
filled  his  heart  with  jealousy  and  rancor ;  she  used  all  the 
means  of  perfidy  and  calumny  of  which  a  woman  is  capable, 
and  in  which  she  finds  a  refuge  when  her  object  is  to  ruin, 
and  she  succeeded  completely. 

Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  was  now  entirely  hers;  he 
was  gathering  against  Josephine  anger  and  vengeance  ;  and 
even  when  he  received  the  news  that,  on  the  13th  of  April, 
1783,  his  young  wife  had  given  birth  to  a  daughter  at  Noisy, 
his  soul  was  not  moved  by  soft  emotions,  by  milder  senti- 
ments of  reconciliation. 

Madame  de  Gisard  had  taught  him  that  henceforth  he 


THE  UNHAPPY  MARRIAGE.  53 

need  no  more  be  on  the  defensive  in  reference  to  the  re- 
proaches of  Josephine,  but  that  he  now  must  be  the  ag- 
gressor ;  that,  to  justify  his  own  guiltiness,  he  must  accuse 
his  wife  of  guilt.  She  had  offered  herself  as  the  price  of 
his  reconquered  freedom  ;  and  the  viscount,  overcome  with 
love,  anger,  and  jealousy,  was  anxious  to  become  worthy  of 
this  price. 

He  left  Martinique  and  returned  to  Noisy,  not  to  em- 
brace and  bless  his  daughter  Eugenie  Hortense,  but  to  bow 
down  the  mother's  head  with  the  curse  of  shame.  He  ac- 
cused, without  listening  to  any  justification,  and,  with  all 
the  vehemence  of  misguided  passion,  he  asked  for  an  im- 
mediate separation,  an  immediate  divorce.  Vain  were  the 
expostulations,  the  prayers  of  his  father  and  of  Madame  de 
Renaudin.  Vain  were  the  tears,  the  assurances  of  inno- 
cence from  Josephine.  The  tears  of  an  injured  woman,  the 
prayers  of  his  sorrowing  relatives,  were  impotent  against 
the  whisperings  and  the  seducing  smiles  of  the  beautiful 
Madame  de  Gisard,  who  had  secretly  accompanied  him  to 
France,  and  who  had  now  over  him  an  unconditional 
sway. 

The  viscount  brought  before  Parliament  a  complaint  fot 
separation  from  his  wife,  and  based  it  upon  the  most  im- 
probable and  most  shameless  accusations. 

Josephine,  who,  for  two  years  in  loneliness  and  abandon- 
ment, had  awaited  the  return  of  her  husband ;  Josephine, 
who  had  always  hoped,  through  the  voice  of  her  children, 
to  recall  her  husband  to  herself,  saw  herself  suddenly 
threatened  with  a  new,  unexpected  tempest.  Two  years  of 
suffering  were  finally  to  be  rewarded  by  a  scandalous  process, 
which  exposed  her  person  to  the  idle  and  malicious  tongues 
of  the  Parisians. 

She  had,  however,  to  submit  to  fate ;  she  had  to  bow  her 
head  to  the  storm,  and  trust  for  her  justification  to  the 
mercy  of  God  and  to  the  justice  of  the  Parliament.    Dur- 


54  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

ing  the  time  of  the  process  she  withdrew,  according  to  cus- 
tom, into  a  convent,  and  for  nearly  one  year  hid  herself  with 
her  shame  and  her  anguish  in  the  abbey  of  Pantemont,  in 
the  street  Grenelle,  St.  Germain.  However,  she  was  not 
alone ;  her  aunt,  Madame  de  Renaudin,  accompanied  her, 
and  every  day  came  the  Marquis  de  Beauharnais,  her  hus- 
band's father,  bringing  her  the  children,  who,  during  the 
time  of  the  unfortunate  process,  were  to  remain  at  Nftisy, 
under  the  guardianship  of  their  grandfather  and  of  a  worthy 
governess.  The  members  of  her  husband's  family  rivalled 
each  other  in  their  manifestations  of  affection  to  a  woman 
so  much  injured  and  so  incriminated,  and  openly  before  the 
world  they  declared  themselves  against  the  viscount,  who, 
blinded  by  passion  and  entirely  in  the  chains  of  this  ensnar- 
ing woman,  was  justifying  the  innocency  of  his  wife  by  his 
own  indiscreet  demeanor — by  the  public  exhibition  of  his 
passion  for  Madame  de  Gisard,  and  thus  caused  the  accusa- 
tions launched  against  Josephine  to  recoil  upon  his  own 
head. 

At  last,  after  one  year  of  debates,  of  careful  considera- 
tions and  investigations,  of  receiving  evidence,  and  of  hear- 
ing witnesses,  the  Parliament  pronounced  its  decision. 

Josephine  was  declared  absolutely  innocent  of  the 
crimes  brought  against  her,  and  was  entirely  acquitted  of 
the  accusation  of  unfaithfulness.  The  Parliament  pro- 
nounced the  solemn  decree  :  The  accusation  directed  against 
the  Viscountess  de  Beauharnais  was  simply  a  malicious 
calumny.  The  innocency  of  the  accused  wife  was  evident, 
and  consequently  the  Viscount  de  Beauharnais  was  bound 
to  receive  again  his  wife  into  his  house.  However,  the  vis- 
countess was  permitted  and  allowed  not  to  share  the  same 
residence  with  her  husband,  and  to  separate  herself  from 
him.  In  this  case  the  viscount  was  condemned  to  pay  to 
hig  wife  an  annual  pension  of  ten  thousand  francs,  and  to 
leave  with  her  mother  his  daughter  Eugenie  Hortense, 


THE  UNHAPPY  MARRIAGE.  55 

while  he,  the  father,  should  provide  for  the  education  of 
the  son. 

Exonerated  from  the  disgraceful  imputation  of  faithless- 
ness, Josephine  was  again  free  to  leave  the  convent  and  re- 
turn to  the  life  of  the  world.  It  was  her  husband's  family 
which  now  prepared  for  the  poor  young  woman  the  most 
beautiful  and  most  touching  triumph.  The  father  of  herv 
accuser,  the  Marquis  de  Beauharnais,  as  well  as  his  elder  son 
and  wife,  the  Duke  and  Duchess  de  la  Kochefoucauld,  and 
the  Baroness  Fanny  de  Beauharnais,  came  in  their  state  car- 
riages to  the  abbey  to  receive  Josephine  and  lead  her  back 
to  Paris.  They  had  been  joined  by  a  great  number  of  the 
most  respectable  and  most  noble  ladies  of  the  Parisian 
aristocracy,  all  in  their  state  carriages,  and  in  the  splendor 
of  their  armorial  trappings  and  liveries,  as  if  it  were  to  ac- 
company a  queen  returning  home. 

Josephine  shed  tears  of  blessed  joy  when  quitting  her 
small,  sombre  rooms  in  the  abbey.  She  entered  into  the  re- 
ception-room to  bid  farewell  to  the  prioress,  and  there  met 
all  these  friends  and  relatives,  who  saluted  her  with  looks  of 
deepest  tenderness  and  sympathy,  and  embraced  her  in 
their  arms  as  one  found  again,  as  one  long  desired.  This 
hour  of  triumph  indemnified  her  for  the  sorrows  and  suffer- 
ings of  the  unhappy  year  which  the  poor  wife  of  scarcely 
twenty  years  of  age,  and  fleeing  from  calumny  and  hatred, 
had  sighed  away  in  the  desolate  and  lonesome  convent.  She 
was  free,  she  was  justified  ;  the  disgrace  was  removed  from 
her  head ;  she  was  again  authorized  to  be  the  mother  of  her 
children ;  she  saw  herself  surrounded  by  loving  parents,  by 
true  friends,  and  yet  in  her  heart  there  was  a  sting.  Not- 
withstanding his  cruelty,  his  harshness,  though  he  had 
abandoned  and  despised  her,  her  heart  could  not  be  forced 
into  hating  the  husband  for  whom  she  had  so  much  wept 
and  suffered.  Her  tears  had  impressed  his  image  yet  deeper 
in  her  heart.     He  was  the  husband  of  her  first  love,  the 


56  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

father  of  her  children;  how  could  Josephine  have  hated 
him,  how  could  her  heart,  so  soft  and  true,  cherish  animos- 
ity against  him  ? 

At  the  side  of  her  husband's  father,  and  holding  her 
daughter  in  her  arms,  Josephine  entered  Paris.  Behind 
them  came  a  long  train  of  brilliant  equipages,  of  relatives 
and  friends.  The  passers-by  stopped  to  see  the  brilliant 
procession  move  before  them,  and  to  ask  what  it  meant 
Some  had  recognized  the  viscountess,  and  they  told  to  oth- 
ers of  the  sufferings  and  of  the  acquittal  of  the  poor  young 
woman ;  and  the  people,  easily  affected  and  sympathizing, 
rejoiced  in  the  decision  of  the  Parliament,  and  with  shouts 
and  applause  followed  the  carriage  of  the  young  wife. 

The  marquis,  her  father-in-law,  turned  smilingly  to  Jo- 
sephine. 

"  Do  yon  see,  my  daughter,"  said  he,  "  what  a  triumph 
you  enjoy,  and  how  much  you  are  beloved  and  recog- 
nized?" 

Josephine  bent  down  toward  the  little  Hortense  and 
kissed  her. 

"  Ah,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  "  we  are  returning  home, 
but  the  father  of  my  children  will  not  bid  us  welcome.  For 
a  pressure  of  his  hand,  for  a  kind  word  from  him,  I  would 
gladly  give  the  lofty  triumph  of  this  hour." 

No,  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  did  not  bid  welcome  to 
Josephine  in  his  father's  house,  which  they  had  occupied 
together.  Ashamed  and  irritated,  he  had  sped  away  from 
Paris,  and  returned  to  his  regiment  at  Verdun. 

On  the  arm  of  the  Marquis  de  Beauharnais,  Josephine 
traversed  the  apartments  in  which  she  had  lived  with  her 
husband,  and  which  she  now  saw  again  as  a  widow,  whom 
not  death  but  life  had  separated  from  her  husband.  Her 
father-in-law  saw  the  tears  standing  in  her  eyes,  and,  with 
the  refined  sympathy  of  a  sensitive  mind,  he  understood  the 
painful  thoughts  which  agitated  the  soul  of  the  young  wife. 


TRIANON  AND  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.  57 

He  fondly  folded  her  in  his  arms,  and  laid  his  blessing  hand 
on  the  head  of  the  little  Hortense. 

"  I  have  lost  my  son  Alexandre,"  said  he,  "  but  I  have 
found  in  his  stead  a  daughter.  Yes,  Josephine,  you  are 
and  will  remain  ray  daughter,  and  to  you  and  to  your 
children  I  will  be  a  true  father.  My  son  has  parted  from 
us,  but  we  remain  together  in  harmony  and  love,  and  as 
long  as  I  live  my  daughter  Josephine  will  never  want  a  pro- 
tector." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TRIANON   AND   MAKIE   ANTOINETTE. 

Whilst  the  Viscountess  Josephine  de  Beauharnais,  the 
empress  of  the  future,  was  living  in  enforced  widowhood, 
the  life  of  Marie  Antoinette,  the  queen  of  the  present,  re- 
sembled a  serene,  golden,  sunny  dream ;  her  countenance, 
beaming  with  youth,  beauty,  and  grace,  had  never  yet  been 
darkened  with  a  cloud ;  her  large  blue  eyes  had  not  yet 
been  dimmed  with  tears. 

In  Fontainebleau,  whither  Josephine  had  retired  with 
her  father-in-law,  who  through  unfortunate  events  had  lost 
the  greatest  part  of  his  fortune — in  Fontainebleau  lived  the 
future  Empress  of  France  in  sad  monotony ;  in  Versailles,  in 
Trianon,  lived  the  present  Queen  of  France  in  the  dazzling 
splendor  of  her  glory,  of  her  youth,  and  of  her  beauty.  In 
Trianon — this  first  gift  of  love  from  the  king  to  his  wife — 
the  Queen  of  France  dreamed  life  away  in  a  pleasant  idyl, 
in  a  joyous  pastoral  amusement ;  there,  she  tried  to  forget 
that  she  was  queen,  that  is  to  say,  that  she  was  the  slave  of 
etiquette ;  there  she  tried  to  indemnify  herself  for  the  tedi- 
ousness,  the  emptiness,  the  heartlessness  of  the  great  festi- 
vals in  the  Tuileries  and  in  Versailles. 


58  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

In  Trianon,  Marie  Antoinette  desired  to  be  the  domestic 
wife,  the  pleasant,  youthful  woman,  as  in  the  Tuileries  and 
at  Versailles  she  was  the  proud  and  lofty  queen.  Marie 
Antoinette  felt  her  days  obscured  by  the  splendors  of  roy- 
alty; the  crown  weighed  heavily  on  her  beautiful  head, 
which  seemed  made  for  a  crown  of  myrtle  and  roses ;  life's 
earnestness  had  not  yet  cast  its  breath  on  those  rosy  cheeks 
and  robbed  of  youth's  charm  the  smile  on  those  crimson 
lips. 

And  why  should  not  Marie  Antoinette  have  smiled  and 
been  joyous?  Every  thing  shone  round  about  her;  every 
thing  seemed  to  promise  an  enduring  harvest  of  felicity,  for 
the  surface  of  France  was  calm  and  bright,  and  the  queen's 
vision  had  not  yet  been  made  keen  enough  by  experience  to 
penetrate  below  this  shining  surface  and  see  the  precipices 
already  hidden  underneath. 

These  precipices  were  yet  covered  with  flowers,  and  the 
skies  floating  above  them  seemed  yet  cloudless.  The  French 
people  appeared  to  retain  yet  for  the  royal  family  that  en- 
thusiastic devotedness  which  they  had  manifested  for  cen- 
turies ;  they  fondly  proclaimed  to  the  queen,  whenever  she 
appeared,  their  affection,  their  admiration ;  they  were  not 
weary  with  the  expressions  of  their  rapture  and  their  wor- 
ship, and  Marie  Antoinette  was  not  weary  of  listening  to 
these  jubilant  manifestations  with  which  she  was  received 
in  the  theatre,  on  the  streets,  in  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries, 
on  the  terraces  of  Versailles  ;  she  was  not  weary  of  return- 
ing thanks  with  a  friendly  nod  or  with  a  gracious  smile. 

All  the  Parisians  seemed  still  to  be,  as  once,  at  the  arri- 
val of  the  Dauphin,  they  had  been  called  by  the  Baron  de 
Vesenval, "  the  queen's  lovers,"  and  also  to  rival  one  another 
in  manifesting  their  allegiance. 

Even  the  fish-women  of  Paris  shared  the  general  enthu- 
siasm ;  and  when,  in  1781,  the  queen  had  given  to  her  hus- 
band a  son,  and  to  his  people  a  future  monarch,  the  ladies 


TRIANON   AND  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.  59 

of  '•'  the  Halls  "  were  amongst  the  most  enthusiastic  friends 
of  the  queen.  They  even  came  to  Versailles  to  congratulate 
the  royal  couple  on  the  dauphin's  birth,  to  salute  the  young 
dauphin  as  the  heir  to  the  crown  of  France,  and  to  sing 
under  the  window  of  the  king  some  songs,  one  of  which  so 
pleased  the  king  that  oftentimes  afterward,  in  his  quiet  and 
happy  hours,  he  used  to  sing  a  verse  of  it  with  a  smile  on 
his  lip.     This  verse,  which  even  Marie  Antoinette  sang,  raD 

thus : 

"  Ne  craignez  pas,  cher  papa, 

D'  voir  augmenter  vot'  famille, 
Le  bon  Dieu  z'y  pourvoira  : 

Faits-en  tant  qu'  Versailles  en  f ourmille ; 
Yeiit-il  cent  Bourbons  eheu  nos 
Ya  du  pain,  du  iaurier  pour  tons."  * 

In  Trianon,  Marie  Antoinette  passed  her  happiest  hours 
and  days ;  there,  the  queen  changed  herself  into  a  shepherd- 
ess ;  there,  vanished  from  her  the  empty  splendors  of  purple 
and  ermine,  of  etiquette  and  ceremonial ;  there,  she  enjoyed 
life  in  its  purity,  in  its  innocency,  in  its  naturalness ;  such 
was  the  ideal  Marie  Antoinette  wished  to  realize  in 
Trianon. 

A  simple  dress  of  white  muslin,  a  light  kerchief  of  gauze, 
a  straw  hat  with  a  gayly-coloi*ed  ribbon,  such  was  the  attire 
of  the  queen  and  of  the  princesses  whom  Marie  Antoinette 
invited.  For  the  only  etiquette  which  prevailed  at  Trianon 
was  this  :  that  no  one  from  the  court,  even  princes  or  prin- 
cesses, should  come  to  Trianon  without  having  received  an 
invitation  from  the  queen  to  that  effect.  Even  the  king 
submitted  to  this  ceremonial,  and  had  expressly  promised 
his  consort  never  to  come  to  Trianon  without  an  invitation, 
and,  so  as  to  please  the  queen,  no  sooner  did  she  announce 
her  intention  of  retiring  to  her  country-residence,  than  he 

♦Madame  de  Campan,  "Histoire  de  Marie  Antoinette,"  vol.  L, 
p.  218. 


60  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

was  always  the  first  who  hastened  to  obtain  the  favor  of  an 
invitation. 

In  Trianon,  Louis  ceased  to  be  king  as  well  as  Marie 
Antoinette  ceased  to  be  queen.  There  Louis  XVI.  was  but 
the  farmer  of  the  lady  of  the  castle ;  the  Count  d'Artois  was 
the  miller,  and  the  learned  Count  de  Provence,  the  school- 
master. For  each  of  them  had  been  erected  in  the  gardens 
of  Trianon  a  separate  house  suited  to  their  respective  avoca- 
tions. 

The  farmer  Louis  had  his  farm-house  built  in  Swiss  style, 
with  a  balcony  of  finely-carved  wood  at  the  gable-end,  and 
with  stalls  attached  to  the  house,  and  where  bellowed  the 
stately  red  cows  of  Switzerland ;  behind  the  house  was  a 
small  garden  in  which  the  variegated  convolvulus  and  the 
daisy  shed  their  fragrance. 

The  Count  d'Artois  had,  near  the  stream  which  flowed 
through  the  park,  his  miller's  house,  with  an  enormous 
wheel,  made  of  wooden  spokes  joined  together,  and  which 
moved  lustily  in  the  water,  and  adorned  the  clear  brook  with 
wavelets  of  foam. 

The  Count  de  Provence  had,  under  the  shadow  of  a  mul- 
berry-tree, his  house,  with  a  large  school-room  in  it ;  and 
oftentimes  the  whole  court-society  were  converted  into 
scholars  of  both  sexes,  who  took  their  seats  on  the  benches 
of  the  school-room,  whilst  the  Count  de  Provence,  in  a  long 
coat  with  lead  buttons  and  with  an  immense  rod  in  his  hand, 
ascended  the  cathedra  and  delivered  to  his  school-children 
a  humorous  and  piquant  lecture,  all  sparkling  with  wit. 

The  princesses  also  had  in  this  "  grove  of  Paradise,"  as 
Marie  Antoinette  called  the  woods  of  Trianon,  their  cottages, 
where  they  milked  cows,  made  butter,  and  searched  for  eggs 
in  the  hens'  nests.  In  the  midst  of  all  these  cottages  and 
Swiss  houses  stood  the  cottage  of  the  farming  Marie  Antoi- 
nette ;  it  was  the  finest  and  the  most  beautiful  one  of  all, 
adorned  with  vases  full  of  fragrant  blossoms  and  surrounded 


TRIANON  AND  MARIE  ANTOINETTK  61 

by  flowering  plants  and  by  cozy  bowers  of  verdure.  This 
cottage  was  the  highest  delight  of  the  queen's  life,  the  en- 
chanting toy  of  her  happiness.  Even  the  little  castle  of 
Trianon,  however  simple  and  modest,  seemed  too  splendid 
for  the  taste  of  the  pastoral  queen.  For  in  Trianon  one 
was  always  reminded  that  the  lady  of  this  castle  was  a  queen ; 
there,  servants  were  in  livery ;  there,  oflBcials  and  names  and 
titles  were  to  be  found,  even  when  etiquette  was  forbidden 
entrance  into  the  halls  of  the  little  castle  of  Trianon.  Marie 
Antoinette  was  no  more  queen  there,  it  is  true,  but  she  was 
the  lady  of  the  palace  to  whom  the  highest  respect  was 
shown,  and  who  therefore  had  been  constrained  expressly 
and  strictly  to  order  that  at  her  entrance  into  the  drawing- 
rooms  the  ladies  would  not  interrupt  the  piece  begun  on  the 
piano,  nor  stand  up  if  seated  at  their  embroidery,  and  that 
the  gentlemen  would  keep  on  undisturbed  their  billiard- 
party  or  their  game  at  trictrac. 

But  in  her  cottage  all  rank  disappeared ;  there^  was  no 
distinction ;  there,  ceased  the  glory  of  name  and  title,  and 
no  sooner  was  the  castle  abandoned  for  the  cottages  than 
each  named  the  other  with  some  Arcadic,  pastoral  appella- 
tion, and  each  busied  himself  with  his  rural  avocations. 
How  lustily  the  laughter,  how  merrily  the  song  sounded 
from  these  cottages  amid  these  bowers  and  groves ;  how  the 
countenance  of  the  farming-lady  was  lighted  up  with  happi- 
ness and  joy ;  with  what  delight  rested  upon  her  the  eye  of 
the  farmer  Louis,  who  in  his  blue  blouse,  with  a  straw  hat 
on  his  head,  with  a  rosy,  fleshy,  good-natured  face,  was 
exactly  fitted  for  his  part,  and  who  found  it  no  difficult  task 
to  hide  under  the  farmer's  garment  the  purple  of  the  king ! 

How  often  was  Marie  Antoinette  seen  in  her  simple 
white  dress,  her  glowing  countenance  shaded  by  a  straw 
hat,  bounding  through  the  garden  as  light  as  a  gazelle,  and 
going  from  the  barn  to  the  milk-room,  followed  by  the  com- 
pany she  had  invited  to  drink  of  her  milk  and  eat  of  her 


02  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

fresh  eggs !  How  often,  when  the  farmer  Louis  had  se- 
creted himself  in  a  grove  for  the  sake  of  reading,  how  often 
was  he  discovered  there  by  the  queen,  torn  away  from  his 
book  and  drawn  to  a  dejeuner  on  the  grass !  When  that 
was  over,  and  Louis  had  gone  back  to  his  book,  Marie  An- 
toinette hastened  to  her  cows  to  see  them  milked,  or  she 
went  into  the  rocking-boat  to  fish,  or  else  reposed  on  the 
lawn,  busy  as  a  peasant,  with  her  spindle. 

But  this  quiet  occupation  detained  not  long  the  lively, 
spirited  farming-lady ;  with  a  loud  voice,  she  called  to  her 
maids  or  companions  from  the  cottages,  and  then  began 
those  merry,  unrestrained  amusements  which  the  queen  had 
introduced  into  society,  and  which  since  then  have  been 
introduced  not  only  into  the  drawing-rooms  of  the  upper 
classes,  but  also  into  the  more  austere  circles  of  the  wealthy 
burghers. 

Then  the  queen  with  her  court  played  at  blindman's 
bluff,  at  pampam,  or  at  a  game  invented  by  the  Duke  de 
Chartres,  the  future  Duke  Philippe  d'Orleans,  Egalite,  and 
which  game  was  called  "  descamper,"  a  sort  of  hide-and- 
seek  amusement,  in  which  the  ladies  hid  themselves  in  the 
shady  bushes  and  groves,  to  be  there  discovered  by  the  gen- 
tlemen, and  then  to  endeavor  by  flight  to  save  themselves, 
for  if  once  caught  and  seized  they  had  to  purchase  their 
liberty  with  a  kiss. 

When  evening  came  all  left  the  cottages  for  the  little 
castle,  and  the  pastoral  recreations  gave  way  to  the  higher 
enjoyments  of  refined  society.  Marie  Antoinette  was  not 
in  the  castle  of  Trianon  queen  again,  but  she  was  not  either 
the  simple  lady  of  the  farm,  she  was  the  lady  of  the  castle, 
and — the  first  amateur  in  the  theatrical  company  which 
twice  a  week  exhibited  their  pieces  in  the  theatre  of  Tri- 
anon. 

These  tlieatrical  performances  were  quite  as  much  the 
queen's  delight  as  her  pastoral  occupations  in  her  farm- 


TRIANON  AND  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.  63 

cottages,  and  Marie  Antoinette  was  unwearied  in  learning 
and  studying  her  parts.  She  had  chosen  for  teachers  two 
pensioned  actors,  Caillot  and  Dazincourt,  who  had  to  come 
every  day  to  Trianon  to  teach  to  the  noble  group  of  actors 
the  small  operas,  vaudevilles,  and  dramas,  which  had  been 
chosen  for  representation,  and  in  which  the  queen  naturally 
always  played  the  part  of  first  amateur,  while  the  princesses, 
the  wives  of  the  Counts  de  Provence  and  Artois,  the  two 
Countesses  de  Polignac,  undertook  the  other  parts,  even 
those  of  gentlemen,  when  the  two  brothers  of  the  king,  the 
only  male  members  of  this  theatrical  company,  could  not 
assume  all  the  gentlemen's  parts. 

At  first  the  audience  at  these  representations  was  very 
limited.  Only  the  king,  the  princes  and  the  princesses  of 
the  royal  household,  not  engaged  in  the  performance,  con- 
stituted the  audience ;  but  afterward  it  was  found  that  to 
encourage  the  actors  a  little,  a  larger  audience  was  needed  ; 
then  the  boxes  were  filled  with  the  governesses  of  the  prin- 
cesses, the  queen's  waiting- women,  whose  sisters  and  daugh« 
ters  with  a  few  other  select  ladies  had  been  invited. 

It  was  natural  that  those  who  had  been  thus  preferred, 
and  who  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  seeing  the  Queen  of  France, 
the  princes  and  princesses,  appear  as  actors,  should  be  full 
of  admiration  and  applause  at  the  talents  displayed  by  the 
royal  troupe  ;  and  as  they  alone  formed  the  select  audience, 
whose  presence  had  for  object  to  animate  the  artistes^  they 
had  also  assumed  the  duty  to  excite  and  to  vitalize  the  zeal 
and  the  fire  of  the  players  by  their  enthusiasm  and  by  their 
liberal  praises. 

This  applause  of  a  grateful  public  blinded  the  royal  actors 
as  to  their  real  merits,  and  excited  in  them  the  ambition  to 
exhibit  their  artistic  talents  before  a  larger  audience  and  to 
be  admired.  Consequently,  the  queen  granted  to  the  officers 
of  the  lifeguard  and  to  the  masters  of  the  king's  stalls  and 
to  their  brothers,  admittance  into  the  theatre ;  the  gentle- 


64  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

mon  and  ladies  of  the  court  had  seats  in  the  gilt  boxes ;  a 
larger  number  of  ladies  were  invited,  and  soon  from  all  sides 
came  requests  for  tickets  of  admission  to  the  theatrical  per- 
formances in  the  Trianon. 

The  same  privileges  which  had  been  allowed  to  a  few 
could  not  be,  and  it  was  not  desirable  that  they  should  be, 
granted  to  all ;  those  who  were  purposely  refused  revenged 
themselves  of  this  refusal  by  an  unsparing  criticism  on  the 
performers  and  by  bitter  sarcasm  at  the  Queen  of  France, 
who  so  far  forgot  her  dignity  as  to  play  comedies  before  her 
subjects,  and  who  played  her  part  not  always  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  to  give  to  a  sharp  criticism  no  reason  for  blame. 

The  queen  possessed,  it  is  true,  the  desire,  but  not  the 
ability,  to  be  an  actress  or  a  songstress.  When  she  played 
the  part  of  a  comedian,  no  one  felt  tempted  to  laugh  ;  but 
contrariwise  it  might  often  happen  that,  when  her  part  was 
tragical,  impressive  and  touching  even  to  tears,  the  faces  of 
her  auditors  brightened  with  involuntary  laughter. 

Once  even  it  happened  that  a  person  from  the  audience, 
when  the  queen  had  not  yet  left  the  stage,  cried  aloud,  and 
perhaps  with  the  intention  of  being  heard  by  her :  "  One 
must  confess  that  royal  acting  is  bad  acting  ! " 

Though  she  understood  the  words,  yet  the  smile  on  her 
lips  vanished  not  away ;  and  as  the  Countess  Diana  de  Po- 
lignac  wished  to  persuade  her  to  allow  the  impertinent  one 
who  had  spoken  these  words,  to  be  sought  out  and  punished, 
the  queen,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  answered  :  "  My  friend, 
I  say  as  Madame  de  Maintenon  :  '  I  am  upon  the  stage,  and 
must  therefore  be  willing  to  be  applauded  or  hissed.'  " 

Yes,  she  had  to  endure  the  applause  or  the  hissing.  Un- 
fortunately, the  number  of  those  who  hissed  grew  every  day. 
The  queen  had  provoked  public  expression  since  she  bade  it 
defiance.  On  the  day  she  banished  etiquette  from  its  wateh- 
ful  duty  at  the  apartments  of  the  Queen  of  France,  the  pub- 
lic expression  with  its  train  of,  slanders  and  maliciousness 


TRIANON  AND  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.  65 

entered  in  through  the  open  portals.  The  queen  was  blamed 
for  her  theatricals  as  well  as  for  her  simple,  unadorned  toilet, 
yet  she  was  imitated  in  these  two  things,  as  even  before  the 
costly  and  luxurious  toilet,  the  high  head-gears  of  the  queen, 
and  also  blindman's  buff  and  descamper,  had  been  imitated. 
Every  woman  now  wanted  such  a  simple  negligee^  such  a  head- 
dress, such  a  feather  as  Marie  Antoinette.  As  once  before, 
Madame  Bertin,  the  celebrated  milliner  of  the  queen,  had  been 
circumvented  to  furnish  a  pattern  of  the  queen's  coiffure^  so 
now  all  the  ladies  rushed  upon  her  in  flocks  to  procure  the 
small  caps,  fichus,  and  mantelets,  after  the  queen's  model. 
The  robes  with  long  trains,  the  court-dresses  of  heavy  silk, 
jewels  and  gold  ornaments,  were  on  a  sudden  despised ;  every 
thing  which  could  add  brilliancy  and  dignity  to  the  toilet 
was  banished,  the  greatest  simplicity  and  nonchalance  were 
now  the  fashion ;  every  lady  strove,  if  possible,  to  resemble 
a  shepherdess  of  Watteau,  and  it  was  soon  impossible  to  dis- 
tinguish a  duchess  from  an  actress. 

Not  only  the  ladies  but  also  the  gentlemen  were  carried 
away  by  this  flood  of  novelty.  "They  gave  up  the  boots  with 
red  heels,  the  embroidered  garments,  as  already  before  they 
had  given  up  laces,  bandelets,  gold  fringes,  and  diamond 
buttons  on  the  hats ;  they  put  on  simple  coats  of  cloth  as 
the  burgher  and  the  man  of  the  people  wore ;  they  aban- 
doned their  equipages,  with  their  brilliant  armorial  trap- 
pings and  the  golden  liveries,  and  found  satisfaction  in 
promenading  the  streets,  with  cane  in  hand,  and  with  boots 
instead  of  buckled  shoes. 

It  is  true  these  street  promenadings  of  the  nobility  were 
not  oftentimes  without  inconvenience  and  molestation.  As 
without  the  insignia  of  their  rank  and  position  they  mixed 
with  the  society  of  the  streets,  entered  into  taverns  and 
cafeSy  the  people  took  them  for  what  they  seemed  to  be,  for 
their  equals,  and  instead  of  respectfully  making  way  for 
them,  the  people  claimed  as  much  attention  from  them  as 


06  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

they  themselves  were  willing  to  give.  Often  enough  dis- 
putes and  scuffles  took  place  between  the  disguised  noble- 
man and  the  man  of  the  people,  the  laborer,  or  the  com- 
missionnaire,  and  at  such  experiments  of  hand  to  hand  the 
victory  was  not  to  the  nobleman,  but  to  the  fist  of  the  man, 
of  the  people. 

The  novelty  of  such  scenes  excited  the  fastidious  aris- 
tocracy ;  it  became  a  sort  of  passion  to  mix  with  the  people, 
to  frequent  the  cabqrets,  to  strike  some  bargain  at  trade,  to 
be  the  hero  of  a  fist-fight,  even  if  it  ended  by  the  stout 
workmen  throwing  down  the  aristocrats  who  had  despised 
them.  To  be  thrown  down  was  no  more  considered  by  the 
nobility  as  a  disgrace,  and  they  applauded  these  affrays  as 
once  they  had  applauded  duelling. 

The  aristocracy  mixed  with  the  people,  adopted  their 
manners  and  usages,  even  much  of  their  mode  of  thinking, 
of  their  democratic  opinions,  and,  by  divesting  themselves 
of  their  external  dignity,  of  their  halo,  the  nobility  threw 
down  the  barrier  of  separation  which  stood  between  them 
and  the  democracy;  that 'respect  and  esteem  which  the 
man  of  the  people  had  hitherto  maintained  toward  the 
nobleman  vanished  away. 

The  principle  of  equality,  which  was  to  have  such  fatal 
consequences  for  France,  arose  from  the  folly  of  the  aris- 
tocracy ;  and  Marie  Antoinette  was  the  one  who,  with  her 
taste  for  simplicity,  with  her  opposition  to  etiquette  and 
ceremony,  had  called  this  principle  into  life. 

Not  only  was  the  queen  imitated  in  her  simplicity,  she 
was  also  imitated  in  her  love  of  comedy.  These  theatrical 
amusements  of  the  queen  were  a  subject  of  reproach,  and 
yet  these  private  recreations  of  Marie  Antoinette  were  the 
fashion  of  the  day.  The  taste  for  theatrical  representations 
made  its  way  into  all  classes  of  society ;  soon  there  was  no 
nobleman,  no  banker,  not  even  a  respectable,  well-to-do 
merchant,  who  had  not  in  his  house  a  small  theatre,  and 


TRIANON  AND  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.  67 

who,  with  his  family  and  friends,  endeavored  not  to  emulate 
on  his  own  narrow  stage  the  manners  of  the  celebrated  actors. 

Before  these  days,  a  nobleman  would  have  considered 
himself  insulted  and  dishonored  if  he  had  been  supposed  to 
have  become  a  comedian,  or  even  to  have  assumed  a  comedi- 
an's garb,  were  it  but  in  the  home-circle.  The  queen  by 
her  example  had  now  destroyed  this  prepossession,  and  it 
was  now  so  much  hon  ton  to  act  a  comedy  that  even  men  of 
gravity,  even  the  first  magistrate  of  Paris,  could  so  much 
forget  the  dignity  of  position  as  to  commit  to  memory  and 
even  to  act  some  of  tlie  parts  of  a  buffoon.* 

It  was  also  soon  considered  to  be  highly  fashionable  to 
set  one's  self  against  the  prejudice  which  had  been  hitherto 
fostered  against  actors  ;  and,  whereas  the  queen  took  lessons 
in  singing  from  Garat,  the  opera-singer,  and  even  sang 
duets  with  her,  she  threw  down  the  wall  of  partition  which 
had  hitherto  separated  the  artistes  of  the  stage  from  good 
society. 

Unfortunate  queen,  who,  with  the  best  qualities  of  the 
heart,  was  preparing  her  own  ruin ;  who  understood  not 
that  the  freedom  and  license  which  she  herself  granted, 
would  soon  throw  on  the  roof  of  the  Tuileries  the  firebrand 
which  reduced  to  dust  and  ashes  the  throne  of  the  Bour- 
bons!— ^unfortunate  queen,  who  in  her  modesty  would  so 
gladly  forget  her  exaltation  and  her  majesty,  and  who 
thereby  taught  her  subjects  to  make  light  of  majesty  and  to 
despise  the  throne ! 

She  saw  not  yet  the  abyss  opening  under  her  feet ;  the 
flowers  of  Trianon  hid  it  from  her  view !  She  heard,  not 
the  distant  mutterings  of  the  public  mind,  which,  like  the 
raging  wave  of  the  storm,  swelled  up  nearer  and  nearer  the 
throne  to  crush  it  one  day  under  the  howling  thunders  of 
the  unshackled  elements  of  the  unloosed  rage  of  the  people ! 

*  Montjoie,  "  Histoire  de  Marie  Antoinette,  Reine  de  France." 


68  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

The  skies,  arching  over  the  fragrant  blossoms  of  the 
charming  Trianon,  and  over  the  cottages  of  the  farming 
queen,  were  yet  serene  and  cloudless,  and  the  voice  of  pub- 
lic opinion  was  yet  drowned  in  the  joyous  laughter  which 
echoed  from  the  cottages  of  Trianon,  or  in  the  sweet  har- 
monies which  waved  in  the  concert-hall,  when  the  queen, 
with  Garat,  or  with  the  Baron  de  Vaudreuil,  the  most  wel- 
come favorite  of  the  ladies,  and  the  most  accomplished 
courtier  of  his  day,  sang  her  duets. 

Repose  and  peace  prevailed  yet  in  Trianon,  and  the 
loyal  subjects  of  the  King  of  France  made  their  pilgrimages 
to  Trianon,  there  to  admire  the  idyls  of  the  queen  and  to 
watch  for  the  favorable  opportunity  of  espying  the  queen, 
Marie  Antoinette,  in  her  rustic  costume,  with  a  basket  of 
eggs  on  her  arm,  or  the  spindle  in  hand,  and  to  be  greeted 
by  her  with  a  salutation,  a  friendly  word.  For  Marie  An- 
toinette in  Trianon  was  only  the  lady  of  the  mansion,  or 
the  farming-lady — so  much  so,  that  she  had  allowed  the 
very  last  duties  of  etiquette,  which  separated  the  subject 
from  the  queen,  to  be  abandoned,  that  even  when  with  her 
gay  company  she  was  in  Trianon,  the  gates  of  the  park  and 
of  the  castle  were  not  closed  to  visitors,  but  were  opened  to 
any  one  who  had  secured  from  the  keeper  a  card  of  admis- 
sion ;  the  benefit  arising  from  these  cards  was  applied  by 
order  of  the  queen  to  the  relief  of  the  poor  of  Versailles, 
It  is  true,  one  condition  of  small  importance  was  attached, 
"  by  order  of  the  queen,"  to  the  obtaining  of  such  a  card. 
It  was  necessary  to  belong  to  the  nobility,  or  to  the  higher 
magistracy,  so  as  to  be  entitled  to  purchase  a  card  of  admis- 
sion into  the  Trianon,  and  this  sole  insignificant  condition 
contained  the  germ  of  much  evil  and  of  bitter  hatred.  The 
merchant,  the  Spicier,  was  conscious  of  a  bitter  insult  in 
this  order,  which  banished  him  from  Trianon,  which  made 
it  impossible  for  him  to  satisfy  his  curiosity,  and  to  see  the 
queen  as  a  shepherdess,  and  the  king  as  a  farmer.    This 


TRIANON  AND  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.  69 

order  only  whetted  more  and  more  the  hatred  and  the  con- 
tempt for  the  preferred  classes,  for  the  aristocrats,  and 
turned  the  most  important  class  of  the  population,  the  bur- 
gesses, into  enemies  of  the  queen.  For  it  was  the  queen 
who  had  given  this  order  which  kept  away  from  Trianon 
the  tradesmen ;  it  was  the  queen  alone  who  ruled  in  Tria- 
non :  and,  to  vent  vengeance  on  the  queen's  order,  she  was 
blamed  for  assuming  a  right  belonging  only  to  the  King  of 
France.  Only  he,  the  king,  was  entitled  to  give  laws  to 
France,  only  he  could  set  on  the  very  front  of  the  law  this 
seal :  "  De  par  le  roi." 

And  now  the  queen  wanted  to  assume  this  privilege.  In 
the  castles  of  pleasure  presented  by  the  king  to  the  queen, 
in  Trianon  as  well  as  in  St.  Cloud,  was  seen  at  the  entrance 
of  the  gardens  a  tablet,  containing  the  regulations  under 
which  admission  was  granted  to  the  public,  and  these  two 
tablets  began  with  the  formula,  "  De  par  la  reine  ! " 
This  unfortunate  expression  excited  the  ill-will  and  the 
anger  of  all  France ;  every  one  felt  himself  injured,  every 
one  was  satisfied  to  see  therein  an  attack  on  the  integrity  of 
the  monarchy,  on  the  sovereignty  of  the  king. 

"  It  is  no  more  the  king  alone  who  enacts  laws,"  they 
said,  "but  the  queen  also  assumes  this  right;  she  makes 
use  of  the  formalities  of  the  state,  she  issues  laws  without 
the  approbation  of  the  Parliament.  The  queen  wants  to 
place  our  king  aside  and  despoil  us  of  our  rights,  so  as  to 
take  the  king's  place ! " 

And  these  complaints,  these  reproaches  became  so  vehe- 
ment, so  loud,  that  their  echoes  resounded  in  the  chambers 
of  the  king,  so  that  even  one  of  the  ministers  could  make 
observations  to  the  king  on  that  subject,  and  say :  "  It  is 
certainly  immoral  and  impolitic  for  a  queen  of  France  to 
own  castles  for  her  own  private  use  "  * 

*  Campan,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  i.,  p.  274. 


70  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

The  good  Louis  therefore  ventured  to  speak  to  his  con- 
sort on  this  subject,  and  to  ask  of  her  to  remove  this  ex- 
pression ^which  gave  so  much  offence,  and  which  had  so 
violently  excited  the  public  sentiment. 

But  the  pure  heart  of  Marie  Antoinette  rebelled  against 
such  a  supposition ;  her  pride  was  stirred  up  that  she,  a 
queen,  the  daughter  of  the  Caesars,  should  make  concession 
to  public  opinion ;  that  she  should  submit  to  this  imaginary 
and  invisible  power,  which  dared  despise  her  as  a  queen, 
which  she  recognized  not  and  would  not  recognize ! 

This  power,  the  public  opinion,  stood  yet  behind  Marie 
Antoinette  as  an  invisible,  an  unobserved  phantom,  which 
soon  WHS  to  be  transformed  into  a  cruel  monster,  whose 
giant  hand  would  pitilessly  crush  the  happiness  and  the 
peace  of  the  queen. 

The  prayers  and  expostulations  of  the  king  were  in  vain. 
Marie  Antoinette  would  not  bow  to  the  public  sentiment ; 
she  would  not  depart  from  her  regulations,  she  would  not 
strike  off  her  "  De  par  la  reine,''^  for  the  sake  of  "  Be  par  le 
peupUy 

"  My  name  is  there  in  its  right  place,"  said  she,  with  a 
countenance  beaming  with  resolution  and  pride ;  *'  these 
gardens  and  castles  are  my  property,  and  I  can  very  well 
issue  orders  in  them,  without  interfering  with  state  rights." 

And  the  "  De  par  la  reine  "  remained  on  the  regula- 
tion-tablets in  Trianon  as  well  as  in  St.  Cloud;  and  the 
people,  who,  through  birth  or  through  official  position, 
were  not  entitled  to  enter  Trianon,  came  thither  at  least 
to  read  the  tablets  of  rules  at  the  gate  of  entrance,  and 
to  fill  up  their  hearts  with  scorn  and  contempt,  and  to 
utter  loud  curses  against  this  presumptuous  and  daring 
"  De  par  la  reined 

And  this  woman,  whose  pride  and  imperiousness  kept 
away  and  scorned  away  the  burgesses  from  the  gates  of 
Trianon,  came  to  Trianon  there  to  rest  from  the  unbending 


TRIANON  AND  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.  ^l 

majesty  of  her  sovereignty,  and  she  herself  used  to  say  to 
her  ladies,  with  her  own  enchanting  smile,  "  To  forget  that 
she  was  queen." 

The  numberless  fairy-tales  related  about  the  enchanted 
castle  of  the  queen  had  found  their  way  to  Fontainebleau, 
and  had  been  re-echoed  in  the  quiet,  lonely  house  where 
lived  the  Marquis  de  Beauharnais  and  his  family.  The 
marquis,  always  extremely  attentive  to  procure  for  his  be- 
loved daughter-in-law  some  distraction  and  some  recreation, 
proposed  to  Josephine  to  visit  this  Trianon,  which  furnished 
so  much  material  for  admiration  and  slander,  and  to  make 
thither  with  a  few  friends  a  pleasure  excursion. 

Josephine  gladly  accepted  the  invitation ;  she  longed  for 
diversion  and  society.  Her  young,  glowing  heart  had  been 
healed  and  strengthened  after  the  deep  wound  which  the 
ever-beloved  husband  had  inflicted ;  she  had  submitted  to 
her  fate ;  she  was  a  divorced  woman,  but  Parliament  had  by 
its  judgment  kept  her  honor  free  from  every  shadow ;  public 
opinion  had  pronounced  itself  in  her  favor ;  the  love  of  her 
parents,  of  the  father  of  him  who  had  so  shamefully  ac- 
cused her,  so  cruelly  deserted  her,  endeavored  to  make  com- 
pensation for  what  she  had  lost.  Josephine  could  not 
trouble,  with  her  sorrows,  with  her  sad  longings  of  soul, 
those  who  so  much  busied  themselves  in  cheering  her  up. 
She  had,  therefore,  so  mastered  herself  as  to  appear  content, 
as  to  dry  her  tears  ;  and  her  youth,  the  freshness  and  elas- 
ticity of  her  mind,  had  come  to  the  help  of  her  efforts. 
She  had  at  first  smiled  through  effort,  she  soon  did  it  from 
the  force  of  youthful  pleasure ;  she  had  at  first  repressed 
her  tears  by  the  power  of  her  will,  soon  her  tears  were  dried 
up  and  her  eyes  irradiated  again  the  fire  of  youth  and  hope, 
of  the  hope  once  more  to  win  her  husband's  heart,  to  re- 
turn her  two  graceful  and  beloved  children  to  their  father, 
whom  their  youth  needed,  for  whom  every  evening  she  raised 
to  the  God  of  love  the  prayers  which  their  mother  with 


72  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

low,  trembling  voice  and  tears  in  her  eyes  made  them  say 
after  her. 

Josephine,  then,  in  company  with  her  aunt  Madame  de 
Renaudin  and  with  her  father-in-law  the  Marquis  de  Beau- 
harnais,  undertook  this  pleasure-excursion  to  Trianon.  The 
sight  of  these  glorious  parks,  these  gardens  so  artistically 
laid  out,  charmed  her  and  filled  her  with  the  sweet  reminis- 
cences of  the  loved  home,  of  the  beautiful  gardens  in 
Martinique,  which  she  herself  with  her  slaves  had  culti- 
vated, in  which  she  had  planted  those  beautiful  flowers 
whose  liveliness  of  color  and  whose  fragrance  of  blossom 
were  here  in  hot-houses  so  much  praised.  The  love  of 
plants  and  flowers  had  ever  remained  fresh  amid  the  storms 
and  sorrows  which  in  the  last  years  had  passed  over  her 
heart,  and  oftentimes  she  had  sought  in  the  study  of  botany 
forgetfulness  and  refreshment.  With  a  vivacity  and  a  joy- 
fulness  such  as  had  not  been  seen  in  her  for  a  long  time, 
Josephine  wandered  about  this  beautiful  park,  these  hot- 
houses and  gardens,  and,  transported  with  joy  and  admira- 
tion, she  exclaimed  :  "  Oh,  how  happy  must  the  queen  be  to 
call  this  paradise  her  own ! " 

The  sound  of  approaching  voices  interrupted  her  in  her 
observations  and  in  her  admiration,  which,  perchance,  was 
not  entirely  free  from  envy.  Through  the  foliage  of  the 
trees  was  seen  a  large  company  approaching  the  queen's 
farm-house,  before  which  stood  Josephine  with  her  escort. 
At  the  curve  of  the  path  near  the  grove  where  Josephine 
stood,  appeared  a  woman.  A  white  muslin  dress,  not  ex- 
panded by  the  stiff,  ceremonious  hoop-petticoat,  but  falling 
down  in  ample  folds,  wrapped  up  her  tall,  noble  figure,  a 
small  lace  kerchief  covered  the  beautiful  neck,  and  in  part 
the  splendid  shoulders.  The  deep-blond  unpowdered  hair 
hung  in  heavy,  curly  locks  on  either  side  of  the  rosy  cheeks  ; 
the  head  was  covered  with  a  large,  round  straw  hat,  adorned 
with  long,  streaming  silk   ribbons;    on   the  arm,  partly 


TRIANON  AND  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.  73 

covered  with  a  black  knit  glove,  hung  an  ornamented 
woven  basket,  which  was  completely  filled  with  eggs. 

"The  queen!"  murmured  Josephine,  trembling  within 
herself,  and,  frightened  at  this  unexpected  meeting,  she 
wanted  to  withdraw  behind  the  grove,  in  the  hope  of  being 
unnoticed  by  the  farmer's  wife  passing  by. 

But  Marie  Antoinette  had  already  seen  her,  and  on  hei 
beautiful,  smiling  countenance  was  not  for  a  moment  ex- 
pressed either  surprise  or  concern  at  this  unexpected  meet- 
ing with  uninvited  strangers.  She  was  so  accustomed  to 
see  curiosity- seekers  in  her  lovely  Trianon,  and  to  meet 
them,  disturbed  not  in  the  least  her  unaffected  serenity.  A 
moment  only  she  stood  still,  to  allow  her  followers,  the 
Duchesses  de  Polignac,  the  Princess  de  Lamballe,  and  the 
two  Counts  de  Coigny,  to  draw  near ;  then  lightly  and  smil- 
inglv  she  walked  toward  the  house  near  which  Josephine 
bewildered  and  blushing  stood,  whilst  the  marquis  bowed 
profoundly  and  reverentially. 

Tlie  queen,  who  was  about  to  pass  by  and  enter  into  the 
house,  stood  still.  Her  large  dark-blue  eye  was  for  a  mo- 
ment fixed  with  questioning  expression  upon  Josephine, 
then  a  smile  illumined  her  beautiful  countenance.  She  had 
recognized  the  Viscountess  de  Beauharnais,  though  she  had 
seen  her  only  twice.  Although,  through  her  husband's 
rank  and  station,  Josephine  was  entitled  to  appear  at  court, 
yet  she  had  always,  with  all  the  retreating  anxiety  of  inex- 
perienced youth,  endeavored  to  evade  the  solemnity  of  an 
official  presentation.  The  young,  lively,  unaffected  Creole 
had  cherished  an  invincible  horror  for  the  stiff  court-eti- 
quette, for  the  ceremonial  court-dress  of  gold  brocade,  with 
the  court-mantle  strictly  embroidered  after  the  established 
pattern,  and  which  terminated  in  a  long,  heavy  train,  for 
the  majestic  head-gear  of  feathers,  flowers,  laces,  and  veils, 
all  towering  up  nearly  a  yard  high,  and,  above  all  things, 
for  those  rules  and  laws  which  regulated  and  fixed  every 


74  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHmE. 

word,  every  step,  every  movement,  at  a  solemn  presentation 
at  court. 

Marie  Antoinette  had  had  compassion  on  the  timidity  of 
the  young  Creole,  and  to  spare  her  the  solemnity  of  a  rigid 
presentation  had  twice  received  at  a  private  audience  the 
young  Viscountess  de  Beauharnais,  and  had  then  received 
also  her  homage.* 

The  youthful,  charming  appearance  of  Josephine,  her 
peculiar  and  at  the  same  time  ingenuous  and  graceful  atti- 
tude, had  not  been  without  impression  on  the  queen ;  and 
with  the  most  sympathizing  interest,  she  had  heard  of  the 
sad  disturbances  which  had  clouded  the  matrimonial  happi- 
ness of  the  young  Creole. 

No  longer,  as  before,  had  Marie  Antoinette  requested 
the  Viscount  de  Beauharnais,  the  beautiful  dancer  of  Ver- 
sailles, to  dance  with  her;  and  when  Parliament  had  given 
its  sentence,  and  openly  and  solemnly  had  proclaimed  the 
innocency  of  Josephine,  the  accused  wife,  the  queen  also 
had  loudly  expressed  her  satisfaction  at  this  judgment,  and 
the  Viscount  de  Beauharnais  was  no  more  invited  to  the 
court  festivities. 

About  to  enter  into  the  house,  the  queen  had  recognized 
the  young  viscountess,  and  with  a  friendly  movement  of  the 
head  she  beckoned  her  to  approach,  welcomed  the  marquis, 
whom  her  short-sightedness  had  not  at  once  recognized,  to 
her  beloved  Trianon,  and  she  requested  them  both  to  visit 
her  little  kingdom  as  often  as  they  would  wish,  and  to  ex- 
amine every  thing  attentively. 

In  the  goodness  and  generosity  of  her  heart,  the  queen 
gladly  desired  to  make  amends  to  the  young,  timid  woman, 
who,  embarrassed  and  blushing,  stood  before  her,  for  the 
sufferings  she  had  endured,  for  the  disgrace  under  which 
she  had  had  to  bow  her  head ;  she  wanted  to  give  the  ac- 

*  Le  Normand,  "  Histoire  de  I'lmp^ratrice  Josephine,"  vol.  i.,  p.  97. 


TRIANON  AND  MARIE  ANTOINETTE.  75 

cused  innocent  one  a  reparation  of  honor  such  as  Parliament 
and  public  sentiment  had  already  done. 

She  was  consequently  all  goodness,  all  condescension,  all 
confidence  ;  she  spoke  to  Josephine,  not  as  a  queen  to  her 
favored  subjects,  but  as  a  young  woman  to  a  young  woman, 
as  to  her  equal.  With  sympathetic  friendliness  she  made 
inquiries  concerning  the  welfare  of  the  viscountess  and  her 
family ;  she  invited  her  to  come  often  to  Trianon,  and,  with 
a  flattering  allusion  to  the  vast  knowledge  of  the  viscountess 
in  botany,  she  asked  her  if  she  was  satisfied  with  the  arrange- 
ments of  garden  and  hot-houses. 

Josephine,  with  the  sensitiveness  and  fine  tact  natural 
to  her,  felt  that  the  trivial  flattery  of  a  courtier  would  but 
be  a  wretched  and  inappropriate  return  for  so  much  good- 
ness and  loving- kindness ;  she  felt  that  frankness  and  truth 
were  the  thanks  due  to  the  queen's  large-heartedness. 

She  therefore  answered  the  queen's  questions  with  im- 
partial sincerity,  and,  encouraged  by  the  kindness  of  the 
queen,  she  openly  and  clearly  gave  her  opinion  concerning 
the  arrangement  of  the  hot-houses,  and  drew  the  attention 
of  the  queen  to  some  precious  and  choice  plants  which  she 
had  noticed  in  the  hot-houses. 

Marie  Antoinette  listened  to  her  with  lively  interest,  and 
at  parting  extended  to  her  in  a  friendly  manner  her  beauti- 
ful hand. 

"  Come  soon  again,  viscountess,"  said  she,  with  that 
beautiful  smile  which  ever  won  her  true  hearts ;  "  you  are 
worthy  to  enjoy  the  beauty  of  my  beloved  Trianon,  for  you 
have  eyes  and  sense  for  the  beautiful.  Examine  everything 
closely,  and  when  we  see  one  another  again,  tell  me  what 
you  have  observed  and  what  has  pleased  you.  It  will  ever 
be  a  pleasure  to  see  you."  * 

But  Josephine  was  no  more  to  see  the  beautiful  queen, 

*  The  very  words  of  the  queen. — See  Le  Normand,  "  Histoire,''  &c., 
voL  i.,  p.  135. 


76  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

80  worthy  of  compassion;  and  these  kind  words  which 
Marie  Antoinette  had  spoken  to  her  were  the  last  which 
Josephine  was  ever  to  hear  from  her  lips. 

A  few  days  after  this  visit  to  Trianon,  Josephine  re- 
ceived from  her  parents  in  Martinique  letters  which  had  for 
their  object  to  persuade  her  with  the  tenderness  of  love, 
with  all  the  reasons  of  wisdom,  to  return  to  her  home,  to 
the  house  of  her  parents,  to  withdraw  with  bold  resolution 
from  all  the  inconveniences  and  humiliations  of  her  precari- 
ous and  dangerous  situation,  and,  instead  of  living  in  hum- 
ble solitude  as  a  divorced,  despised  woman,  sooner  to  come 
to  Martinique,  and  there  in  her  parents'  home  be  again  the 
beloved  and  welcomed  daughter. 

Josephine  hesitated  still.  She  could  not  come  to  the 
resolution  of  abandoning  the  hope  of  a  reunion  with  Alexan- 
dre de  Beauharnais ;  she  dreamt  yet  of  the  happiness  of  see- 
ing the  beloved  wanderer  return  to  his  wife,  to  his  children. 

But  her  aunt  and  her  father-in-law  knew  better  than 
she  that  there  was  no  prospect  of  such  an  event ;  they  knew 
that  the  viscount  was  still  the  impassioned  lover  of  the 
beautiful  Madame  de  Gisard ;  that  she  held  him  too  tightly 
in  her  web  to  look  for  a  possibility  of  his  returning  to  his 
legitimate  affection. 

If  any  thing  could  rouse  him  from  this  love-spell,  and 
bring  him  back  to  duty  and  reason,  it  would  be  that  sudden, 
unexpected  departure;  it  would  be  the  conviction  which 
would  necessarily  be  impressed  upon  him,  that  Josephine 
desired  to  be  forever  separated  from  him ;  that  she  was  con- 
scious of  being  divorced  from  him  forever,  and  that,  in  the 
pride  of  her  insulted  womanhood,  she  wished  to  withdraw 
herself  and  her  daughter  from  his  approaches,  and  from 
the  scandal  which  his  passion  for  Madame  de  Gisard  was 
giving. 

Such  were  the  reasons  with  which  her  relatives,  even  the 
grandfather  of  her  two  children,  sought  to  persuade  her  to 


LIEUTENANT  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  77 

a  voyage  to  Martinique — bitter  though  the  anguish  would 
be  for  them  to  be  deprived  of  the  presence  of  the  gentle, 
iovely  young  woman,  whose  youthful  freshness  and  grace 
had  like  sunshine  cheered  the  lonely  house  in  Fontainebleau ; 
to  see  also  part  from  them  the  little  Hortense,  whose  joyous 
voice  of  childhood  had  now  and  then  recalled  the  faithless 
gon  to  the  father's  house,  and  which  was  still  a  bond  which 
united  Josephine  with  her  husband  and  with  his  family. 

Josephine  had  to  give  way  before  these  arguments,  how- 
ever much  her  heart  bled.  She  had  long  felt  how  much  of 
impropriety  and  of  danger  there  was  in  the  situation  of  a 
young  woman  divorced  from  her  husband,  and  how  much 
more  dignified  and  expedient  it  would  be  for  her  to  return 
to  her  father's  home  and  to  the  bosom  of  her  family.  She 
therefore  took  a  decided  resolution ;  she  tore  herself  away 
from  her  relatives,  from  her  beloved  son,  whom  she  could 
not  take  with  her,  for  he  belonged  to  the  father.  With  a 
stream  of  painful  tears  she  bade  farewell  to  the  love  of 
youth,  to  the  joys  of  youth,  from  which  naught  remained 
but  the  wounds  of  a  despised  heart,  and  the  children  who 
gazed  at  her  with  the  beloved  eyes  of  their  father. 

In  the  month  of  July  of  the  year  1788,  Josephine,  with 
her  little  five-year-old  daughter  Hortense,  left  Fontaine- 
*»leau,  went  to  Havre,  whence  she  embarked  for  Martinique. 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

LIEUTENANT   KAPOLEON   BONAPARTE, 

While  the  Viscountess  Josephine  de  Beauharnais  was, 
during  long  years  of  resignation,  enduring  all  the  anguish, 
humiliations,  and  agonies  of  an  unhappy  marriage,  the 
first  pain  and  sorrow  had  also  clouded  the  days  of  the  young 


78  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Corsican  boy  who,  in  the  same  year  as  Josephine,  had  em- 
barked from  his  native  land  for  France. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1785,  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
had  lost  his  father.  In  Montpellier,  whither  he  had  come 
for  the  cure  of  his  diseased  breast,  he  died,  away  from  home, 
from  his  Letitia  and  his  children.  Only  his  eldest  son  Jo- 
seph stood  near  his  dying  couch,  and,  moreover,  a  fortunate 
accident  had  brought  to  pass  that  the  poor,  lonely  sufferer 
should  meet  there  a  friendly  home,  where  he  was  received 
with  the  most  considerate  affection.  Letitia's  companion  of 
youth,  the  beautiful  Panonia  Comnene,  now  Madame  de 
Permont,  resided  in  Montpellier  with  her  husband,  who  was 
settled  there,  and  with  all  the  faithfulness  and  friendship  of 
a  Corsican,  she  nursed  the  sick  husband  of  her  Letitia. 

But  neither  the  skill  of  the  renowned  physicians  of 
Montpellier,  nor  the  tender  care  of  friends,  nor  the  tears  of 
the  son,  could  keep  alive  the  unfortunate  Charles  de  Bona- 
parte. For  three  days  long  he  struggled  with  death ;  for 
three  days  long  his  youth,  his  manhood's  powers,  resisted 
the  mighty  fo^,  which  already  held  him  in  its  chains ;  then 
he  had  to  submit  to  the  conqueror.  Exhausted  with  death's 
pallor,  Charles  de  Bonaparte  sank  back  on  his  couch,  and  as 
Death  threw  his  dark  shadows  on  his  face  bathed  in  cold 
perspiration,  Charles  de  Bonaparte,  with  stammering  tongue, 
in  the  last  paroxysms  of  fancy,  exclaimed  :  "  It  is  in  vain  ! 
Nothing  can  save  me !  Even  Napoleon's  sword,  which  one 
day  is  to  triumph  over  all  Europe,  even  that  sword  cannot 
frighten  away  the  dragon  of  death  which  crouches  on  my 
breast ! "  * 

Wonderful  vision  of  a  dying  man!  The  dimmed  eye 
of  the  dying  father  saw  his  son  Napoleon's  sword,  "  which 
one  day  was  to  triumph  over  all  Europe ; "  as  he  prophesied 
its  power,  he  sighed  at  the  same  time  over  the  impotency 

*  See  "  Memoires  du  Roi  Joseph,"  vol.  i.,  p.  29. 


LIEUTENANT  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  79 

which  holds  all  mankind  in  its  bands,  and  leaves  even  the 
hero  as  a  powerless  child  in  the  hands  of  fate.  The  sword 
which  was  to  be  a  yoke  to  all  Europe  could  not  terrify  from 
the  breast  of  his  father  the  dragon  of  death ! 

Napoleon  received  the  news  of  his  father's  decease  whilst 
at  the  military  school  of  Paris,  where  he  had  been  placed 
for  the  last  six  months,  to  the  joy  and  satisfaction  of  his 
teachers  as  well  as  to  that  of  his  schoolmates  in  Brienne. 
For  the  reserved,  taciturn,  proud  boy,  who,  rugged  and 
blunt,  stood  aloof  from  his  comrades,  who  even  dared  speak 
rude  and  bitter  words  against  his  teachers  and  against  the 
whole  military  institution  at  Brienne,  was  oftentimes  an  in- 
convenience and  a  burden  as  well  td  teachers  as  to  school- 
mates ;  and  all  felt  relieved,  as  from  a  depressing  weight, 
when  they  no  more  feared  the  flaming  eyes  of  the  boy  who 
observed  every  thing,  who  criticised  every  thing,  and  passed 
judgment  upon  every  thing. 

But  if  he  was  not  loved,  it  was  impossible  to  refuse  es- 
teem to  his  capacity,  to  his  desire  for  learning ;  and  the  tes- 
timony which  Monsieur  de  Heralio,  the  principal  of  the  in- 
stitution of  Brienne,  sent  with  the  young  Napoleon  to  Paris, 
was  a  tribute  of  respect  and  an  acknowledgment  of  merit. 
He  portrayed  him  "  as  having  an  extremely  capacious  head, 
especially  skilled  in  mathematics,  and  of  great  powers  and 
talents."  As  to  his  character,  one  of  the  professors  of  the 
institution  had  in  the  testimonial  written  the  remark  :  "  A 
Corsican  by  birth  and  character.  He  will  do  great  things, 
if  circumstances  are  favorable." 

But  circumstances  did  not  appear  favorable,  but  contrari- 
wise seemed  to  be  roused  in  enmity  against  the  poor  Corsi- 
can boy.  He  had  been  scarcely  half  a  year  in  Paris  when 
he  lost  his  father,  and  this  grief,  of  which  not  a  murmur 
escaped,  which  he  kept  within,  devouring  his  heart,  as  every 
thing  else  which  affected  him,  made  his  existence  still  more 
reserved,  still  more  retired,  and  isolated  him  more  and  more. 


80  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Moreover,  death  had  not  only  taken  away  the  father,  but 
also  the  support  which  Napoleon  received  from  him.  The 
means  of  the  Bonaparte  family  were  very  meagre,  and  barely 
suflBoed  to  the  support  of  Signora  Letitia  and  her  seven 
children.  Napoleon  could  not  and  dared  not  require  or  ac- 
cept any  help  from  his  mother,  on  whom  and  on  his  brother 
Joseph  it  became  incumbent  to  educate  and  support  the 
young  family.  He  had  to  be  satisfied  to  live  upon  the 
bounty  which  the  royal  treasury  furnished  to  the  young 
men  at  the  military  school. 

But. these  limited  means  were  to  the  ambitious  boy  a 
source  of  humiliation  and  pain.  The  majority  of  his  com- 
rades consisted  of  young  aristocrats,  who,  provided  with 
ample  means,  led  a  gay,  luxurious,  dissipated  life,  had  horses, 
servants,  equipages,  kept  up  one  with  another  expensive 
dinner-parties  and  dejeuners^  and  seized  every  opportunity 
to  organize  a  festivity  or  a  pleasure-party.  Every  departure, 
every  admission  of  a  scholar,  was  celebrated  with  brilliant 
display;  every  birthday  furnished  the  opportunity  of  a 
feast,  and  every  holiday  became  the  welcomed  occasion  for 
a  pleasure  excursion  which  the  young  men  on  horseback, 
and  followed  by  their  servants  in  livery,  made  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  Paris. 

Napoleon  could  take  no  part  in  all  these  feastings  and 
dissipations;  and  as  his  proud  heart  could  not  acknowl- 
edge his  poverty,  he  put  on  the  mask  of  a  stoic,  who,  witn 
contemptuous  disregard,  cast  away  vain  pleasures  and  amusG- 
ments,  and  scorned  those  who  with  unrestrained  zest  abar'' 
doned  themselves  to  them. 

He  had  scarcely  been  half  a  year  in  the  military  school 
when  he  gave  loud  expression  to  his  jealousy  and  envy ;  the 
young  Napoleon,  nearly  sixteen  years  old,  undertook  boldly 
to  censure  in  the  very  presence  of  the  teachers  the  regula- 
tions of  the  institution.  In  a  memorial  which  he  had  com. 
posed,  and  which  he  presented  to  the  second  director  of  tho 


LIEUTENANT  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  81 

establishment,  M.  Berton,  he  gave  utterance  to  his  own 
views  in  the  most  energetic  and  daring  manner,  imposing 
upon  the  professors  the  duty  of  making  a  complete  change 
in  the  institution ;  of  limiting  the  number  of  servants,  so 
that  the  military  pupils  might  learn  to  wait  upon  them- 
selves; of  simplifying  the  noonday  meal,  so  as  to  accustom 
them  to  moderation ;  of  forbidding  banquets,  dejeuners, 
and  pleasure-excursions,  so  that  they  might  not  become  in- 
ured to  a  frivolous,  extravagant  mode  of  life. 

This  mask  of  a,  censuring  stoic,  which  he  put  on  in  the 
presence  of  teachers  and  school-mates,  he  retained  also  with 
his  few  friends.  Madame  de  Permont,  a  short  time  after 
the  death  of  Napoleon's  father,  came  with  her  family  to 
Paris,  where  her  husband  had  obtained  an  important  and 
lucrative  office ;  her  son  Albert  attended  the  military  school 
and  was  soon  the  friend  of  Napoleon,  as  much  as  a  friendship 
could  be  formed  between  the  young,  lively  M.  de  Permont, 
the  son  of  wealthy  and  distinguished  parents,  and  the  re- 
served, proud  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  the  son  of  a  poor,  lonely 
widow. 

However,  Napoleon  this  time  acquiesced  in  the  wishes  of. 
his  true  friend,  and  condescended  to  pass  his  holidays  with 
Albert  in  the  house  of  Madame  de  Permont,  the  friend  of 
his  mother;  and  oftentimes  his  whole  countenance  would 
brighten  into  a  smile,  when  speaking  with  her  of  the  dis- 
tant home,  of  the  mother,  and  of  the  family.  But  as  many 
times  also  that  countenance  would  darken  when,  gazing 
round,  he  tacitly  compared  this  costly,  tastefully  decorated 
mansion  with  the  poor  and  sparingly  furnished  house  in 
which  his  noble  and  beautiful  mother  lived  with  her  six 
orphans,  and  who  in  her  household  duties  had  to  wait  upon 
herself;  when  again  he  noticed  with  what  solicitude  and 
love  Madame  de  Permont  had  her  children  educated  by 
masters  from  the  court,  by  governesses  and  by  teachers  at 
enormous  salaries,  whilst  her  friend  Letitia  had  to  content 


82  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

herself  with  the  very  deficient  institutions  of  learning  to 
be  found  in  Corsica,  because  her  means  were  not  sufficient 
to  bring  to  Paris,  to  the  educational  establishment  of  St. 
Cyr,  her  young  daughters,  like  the  parents  of  the  beautiful 
Pauline. 

The  young  Napoleon  hated  luxury,  because  he  himself 
had  not  the  means  of  procuring  it ;  he  spoke  contemptu- 
ously of  servants,  for  his  position  allowed  him  not  to  main- 
tain them ;  he  spoke  against  the  expensive  noonday  meal, 
because  he  had  to  be  content  with  less;  he  scorned  the 
amusements  of  his  school-mates,  because,  when  they  arranged 
their  picnics  and  festivities,  his  purse  allowed  him  not  to 
take  a  part  in  them. 

One  day  in  the  military  school,  as  one  of  the  teachers 
was  to  bid  it  farewell,  the  scholars  organized  a  festivity^ 
toward  which  each  of  them  was  to  contribute  a  tolerably 
large  sum.  It  was  perhaps  not  all  accident  that  precisely 
on  that  day  M.  de  Permont,  the  father  of  Albert,  came  to 
the  military  school  to  visit  his  son,  and  Napoleon,  his  son's 
friend. 

He  found  all  the  scholars  in  joyous  excitement  and 
motion;  his  son  Albert  was,  like  the  rest,  intently  busy 
with  the  preparations  of  the  feast,  which  was  to  take  place 
in  the  garden,  and  to  end  in  a  great  display  of  fireworks. 
All  faces  beamed  with  delight,  all  eyes  were  illumined,  and 
the  whole  park  re-echoed  with  jubilant  cries  and  joyous 
laughter. 

But  Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  not  among  the  gay  com- 
pany. M.  de  Permont  found  him  in  a  remote,  lonesome 
path.  He  was  walking  up  and  down  with  head  bent  low, 
his  hands  folded  behind  his  back ;  as  he  saw  M.  de  Per- 
mont, his  face  became  paler  and  gloomier,  and  a  look  nearly 
scornful  met  the  unwelcomed  disturber. 

"  My  young  friend,"  said  M.  de  Permont,  with  a  friendly 
smile,  "  I  come  to  bring  you  the  small  sum  which  you  need 


LIEUTENANT  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  83 

to  enable  you  to  take  a  part  in  the  festivity.  Here  it  is ; 
take  it,  I  pray  you." 

But  Napoleon,  with  a  vehement  movement  of  the  hand, 
waved  back  the  oflEered  money,  a  burning  redness  for  a  mo- 
ment covered  his  face,  then  his  cheeks  assumed  that  yellow- 
ish whiteness  which  in  the  child  had  always  indicated  a 
Iviolent  emotion. 

"  No,"  cried  he,  vehemently,  "  no,  I  have  nothing  to  do 
with  this  meaningless  festivity.  I  thank  you — I  receive  no 
alms." 

M.  de  Permont  gazed  with  emotions  of  sympathizing 
sorrow  in  the  pale  face  of  the  poor  young  man  for  whom 
poverty  was  preparing  so  many  griefs,  and  in  the  generosity 
of  his  heart  he  had  recourse  to  a  falsehood. 

"  This  is  no  alms  I  offer  you.  Napoleon,"  said  he,  gently, 
"  but  this  money  belongs  to  you,  it  comes  from  your  father. 
At  his  dying  hour  he  confided  to  me  a  small  sum  of  money, 
with  the  express  charge  to  keep  it  for  you  and  to  give  you  a 
portion  of  it  in  pressing  circumstances,  when  your  personal 
honor  required  it.  I  therefore  bring  you  to-day  the  fourth 
part  of  this  sum,  and  retain  the  rest  for  another  pressing 
occasion." 

With  a  penetrating,  searching  look,  Napoleon  gazed  into 
the  face  of  the  speaker,  and  the  slight  motions  of  a  sar- 
castic smile  played  for  an  instant  around  his  thin,  com- 
pressed lips. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  "  since  this  moneiy 
comes  from  my  father,  I  can  use  it ;  but  had  you  simply 
wished  to  lend  it  to  me,  I  could  not  have  received  it.  My 
mother  has  already  too  much  responsibility  and  care  ;  I  can- 
not  increase  them  by  an  outlay,  especially  when  such  an 
outlay  is  imposed  upon  me  by  the  sheer  folly  of  my  school- 
mates." * 

*  Napoleon's  words. — See  "  Memoires  de  la  Duchesse  d'Abrantes," 
vol.  i.,  p.  81. 


84  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

He  then  took  the  offered  sum  for  which,  as  he  thought, 
he  was  indebted  to  no  man,  and  hastened  to  pay  his  con- 
tribution to  the  festivity.  But,  in  respect  to  his  principles, 
he  took  no  part  in  the  festivity,  but  declaimed  all  the  louder, 
and  in  a  more  biting  tone,  against  the  criminal  propensities 
for  pleasure  in  the  young  men  who,  instead  of  turning  their 
attention  to  their  studies,  lavished  away  their  precious  time 
in  dissipation  and  frivolities. 

These  anxieties  and  humiliations  of  poverty  Napoleon 
had  doubly  to  endure,  not  only  for  himself,  but  also  for  his 
sister  Marianne  (who  afterward  called  herself  Elise).  She 
had  been,  as  already  said,  at  her  father's  intercession  and 
application,  received  in  the  royal  educational  institute  of  St. 
Cyr,  and  there  enjoyed  the  solid  and  brilliant  education  of 
the  pupils  of  the  king.  But  the  spirit  of  luxury  and  the 
desire  for  pleasure  had  also  penetrated  into  this  institution, 
founded  by  the  pious  and  high-minded  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon,  and  the  young  ladies  of  St.  Cyr  had  among  them- 
selves picnics  and  festivals,  as  well  as  the  young  men  of  tiie 
military  school. 

Napoleon,  whose  means,  as  long  as  he  was  in  Brienne, 
never  allowed  him  to  visit  his  beloved  sister  at  St.  Cyr,  had 
now  frequent  opportunities  of  seeing  her,  for  Madame  de 
Permont,  in  her  royal  friendship  to  the  Bonaparte  family, 
took  as  lively  an  interest  in  the  daughter  as  in  the  son  of 
her  friend  Letitia,  and  often  drove  to  St.  Cyr  to  visit  the 
young  and  beautiful  Marianne. 

A  few  days  after  the  festival  in  the  military  school,  a 
short  vacation  had  followed,  and  Napoleon  passed  it  with 
his  friend  Albert  in  the  house  of  the  family  of  Permont. 
To  please  young  Napoleon,  it  was  decided  to  go  to  St.  Cyr, 
and  the  glowing  cheeks  and  the  lively  manner  with  which 
Napoleon,  during  the  journey,  conversed  with  M.  and  Ma- 
dame de  Permont,  proved  what  satisfaction  he  anticipated 
in  meeting  his  sister. 


LIEUTENANT  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  85 

But  Marianne  Bonaparte  did  not  seem  to  share  this 
satisfaction.  With  downcast  countenance  and  sad  mien  she 
entered  the  reception-room  and  saluted  M.  and  Madan^e 
Permont,  and  even  her  brother,  with  a  gloomy,  despairing 
look.  As  she  was  questioned  about  the  cause  of  her  sad- 
ness, she  broke  into  tears,  and  threw  herself  with  vehement 
emotion  into  the  arms  of  Madame  de  Permont. 

Vain  were  the  prayers  and  expostulations  of  her  mother's 
friend  to  have  her  reveal  the  cause  of  her  sadness.  Mari- 
anne only  shook  her  head  in  a  negative  manner,  and  ever 
a  fresh  flow  of  tears  started  from  her  eyes,  but  she  remained 
silent. 

Napoleon,  who  at  first,  pale  and  silent,  had  looked  on 
this  outbreak  of  sorrow,  now  excitedly  approached  his  sister, 
and,  laying  his  hand  upon  her  arm,  said  in  angry  tones: 
"  Since  you  cry,  you  must  also  confess  the  cause  of  your 
tears,  or  else  we  are  afraid  that  you  weep  over  some  wrong 
of  which  you  are  guilty.  But  woe  to  you  if  it  is  so !  I 
am  here  in  the  name  of  our  father,  and  I  will  be  without 
pity ! "  * 

Marianne  trembled,  and  cast  a  timid,  anxious  look  upon 
her  young  brother,  whose  voice  had  assumed  such  a  pecul- 
iar, imperious  expression — whose  eyes  shone  with  the  ex- 
pression of  a  proud,  angry  master. 

"  I  am  in  no  wise  guilty,  my  brother,"  murmured  she, 
"  and  yet  I  am  sad  and  unhappy." 

And  blushing,  trembling,  with  broken  words,  inter- 
rupted by  tears  and  sighs,  Marianne  related  that  next  day, 
a  farewell  festival  was  to  take  place  in  the  institution  in 
honor  of  one  of  the  pupils  about  to  leave.  The  whole 
class  was  taking  a  part  in  it,  and  each  of  the  young  ladies 
had  already  paid  her  contribution. 

"  But  I  only  am  not  able,"  exclaimed  Marianne,  with  a 

*  "  Memoires  de  la  Duchesse  d'Abrantes." 


Se  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

loud  burst  of  anguish,  "  I  have  but  six  francs ;  if  I  give 
them,  nothing  is  left  me,  and  my  pension  is  not  paid  until 
six  weeks.  But  even  were  I  to  give  all  I  have,  my  miser- 
able six  francs  would  not  be  enough." 

Very  unwillingly  indeed  had  Napoleon,  whilst  Marianne 
thus  spoke,  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  as  if  to  draw  out 
the  money  which  his  sorrowing  sister  needed,  but  remember- 
ing his  own  poverty,  his  hand  dropped  at  his  side ;  a  deep 
glow  of  anger  overspread  his  cheeks,  and  wildly  stamping 
down  with  the  foot  he  turned  away  and  walked  to  the 
window,  perhaps  to  allow  none  to  notice  the  nervous  agita- 
tion of  his  countenance  and  his  tears  of  vexation  and 
shame. 

But  what  Napoleon  could  not  do,  that  did  Madame  de 
Permont.  She  gave  to  the  weeping  young  girl  the  twelve 
francs  she  needed  to  take  a  part  in  the  festivity,  and  Mari- 
anne, less  proud  and  less  disdainful  than  her  brother,  ac- 
cepted gladly,  without  opposition  and  without  the  need  of 
a  falsehood,  the  little  sum  offered. 

Napoleon  allowed  this  to  take  place  without  contradic- 
tion, and  hindered  not  his  sister  to  receive  from  Madame 
de  Permont  the  alms  which  he  himself  had  so  arrogantly 
refused.. 

But  they  had  barely  left  the  reception-room  and  en- 
tered the  carriage,  than  his  suffering  heart  burst  into  a 
sarcastic  philippic  against  the  contemptible  administration 
of  such  royal  establishments  as  St.  Cyr  and  the  military 
school. 

M.  de  Permont,  who  had  at  first  patiently  and  with  a 
smile  listened  to  these  raving  invectives,  felt  himself  at 
last  wounded  by  them ;  and  the  supercilious  and  presumptu- 
ous manner  in  which  the  young  man  of  barely  seventeen 
years  spoke  of  the  highest  offices  of  the  state,  and  of  the 
king  himself,  excited  his  anger. 

"  Hush,  Napoleon  !  "•  said  he,  reluctantly.     "  It  does  not 


LIEUTENANT  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  87 

beseem  you,  who  are  educated  upon  the  king's  bounty,  to 
speak  thus." 

Napoleon  shrank  within  himself  as  if  he  had  been  bit- 
ten by  a  serpent,  and  a  deadly  pallor  overspread  his  cheeks. 

"  I  am  not  the  pupil  of  the  king,  but  of  the  state !  '* 
exclaimed  he,  in  a  boisterous  voice,  trembling  with  passion. 

"  Ah,  that  is  indeed  a  fine  distinction  which  you  have 
made  there,  Napoleon,"  said  M.  de  Permont,  laughing.  "  It 
is  all  the  same  whether  you  are  the  pupil  of  the  state  or 
of  the  king;  moreover,  is  not  the  king  the  state  also? 
However  it  may  be,  it  beseems  you  not  to  speak  of  your 
benefactor  in  such  inappropriate  terms." 

Napoleon  concentrated  all  his  efforts  into  self-control, 
and  mastered  himself  into  a  grave,  quiet  countenance. 

"  I  will  be  silent,"  said  he,  with  an  appearance  of  com- 
posure ;  "  I  will  no  more  say  what  might  excite  your  dis- 
pleasure. Only  allow  me  to  say,  were  I  master  here,  had 
I  to  decide  upon  the  regulations  of  these  institutions,  I 
would  have  them  very  different,  and  for  the  good  of  all." 

"  Were  I  master  here ! "  The  pupil  of  the  military 
school,  for  whom  poverty  was  preparing  so  much  humilia- 
tion, who  had  just  now  experienced  a  fresh  humiliation 
through  his  sister  in  the  reception-room  of  St.  Cyr,  was 
already  thinking  what  he  would  do  were  he  the  ruler  of 
France ;  and,  strange  enough,  these  words  seemed  natural 
to  his  lips,  and  no  one  thought  of  sneering  or  laughing  at 
him  when  he  thus  spoke. 

Meanwhile  his  harsh  and  repulsive  behavior,  his  con- 
stant fault-finding  and  censoriousness  were  by  no  means 
conducive  to  the  friendship  and  affection  of  those  around 
him ;  he  was  a  burden  to  all,  he  was  an  inconvenience  to 
all ;  and  the  teachers  as  well  as  the  pupils  of  the  military 
school  were  all  anxious  to  get  rid  of  his  presence. 

As  nothing  else  could  be  said  to  his  reproach  ;  as  there 
was  no  denying  his  assiduity,  his  capacities,  and  progress, 
7 


88  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

there  was  but  one  means  of  removing  him  from  the  in^ 
stitution — he  had  to  be  promoted.  It  was  necessary  to 
recognize  the  young  pupil  of  the  military  school  as  com- 
petent to  enter  into  the  practical,  active  military  service; 
it  was  necessary  to  make  a  lieutenant  out  of  the  pupil. 

Scarcely  had  one  year  passed  since  Napoleon  had  been 
received  into  the  military  school  of  Paris,  when  he  was 
nominated  by  the  authorities  of  the  school  for  a  vacancy  in 
the  rank  of  lieutenant,  and  he  was  promoted  to  it  in  the 
artillery  regiment  of  La  Fere,  then  stationed  at  Valence. 

In  the  year  1786  Napoleon  left  the  military  school  to 
serve  his  country  and  his  king  as  second  lieutenant,  and  to 
take  the  oath  of  allegiance. 

Radiant  with  happiness  and  joy,  proud  alike  of  his  pro- 
motion and  of  his  uniform,  the  young  lieutenant  went  to 
the  house  of  M.  de  Permont  to  show  himself  to  his  friends 
in  his  new  dignity  and  in  his  new  splendors,  and,  at  their 
invitation,  to  pass  a  few  days  in  their  house  before  leaving 
for  Valence. 

But,  alas !  his  appearance  realized  not  the  wished-for 
result.  As  he  entered  the  saloon  of  Madame  de  Permont 
the  whole  family  was  gathered  there,  and  at  the  sight  of 
Napoleon  the  two  daughters,  girls  of  six  and  thirteen  years, 
broke  out  into  loud  laughter.  None  are  more  alive  than 
children  to  the  impression  of  what  is  ridiculous,  and  there 
was  indeed  in  the  appearance  of  the  young  lieutenant  some- 
thing which  well  might  excite  the  laughing  propensities  of 
the  lively  little  maidens.  The  uniform  appeared  much  too 
long  and  wide  for  the  little  meagre  figure  of  Napoleon,  and 
his  slender  legs  vanished  in  boots  of  such  height  and 
breadth  that  he  seemed  more  to  swim  tlian  to  walk  with 
them. 

These  boots  especially  had  excited  the  laughter  of  the 
little  maidens ;  and  at  every  step  which  Napoleon,  embar- 
rassed as  he  was  by  the  terrible  cannon-boots,  made  for- 


LIEUTENANT  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  89 

ward,  the  laughter  only  increased,  so  that  the  expostula- 
tions and  reproaches  of  Madame  de  Permont  could  not 
procure  silence. 

Napoleon,  who  had  entered  the  drawing-room  with  a 
face  radiant  with  joy,  felt  wounded  by  the  children's  joy- 
ousness  at  his  own  cost.  To  be  the  subject  of  scorn  or 
sarcasm  was  then,  as  it  was  afterward,  entirely  unbearable 
to  him,  and  when  he  himself  also  tried  to  jest  he  knew  not 
how  to  receive  the  jests  directed  at  him.  After  having  sa- 
luted M.  and  Madame  de  Permont,  Napoleon  turned  to  the 
eldest  daughter  Cecilia,  who,  a  few  days  before,  had  come 
from  the  boarding-school  to  remain  a  short  time  at  home, 
and  who,  laughing,  had  placed  herself  right  before  mon- 
sieur the  lieutenant. 

"  I  find  your  laughter  very  silly  and  childish,"  said  he, 
eagerly. 

The  young  maid,  however,  continued  to  laugh. 

"  M.  Lieutenant,"  said  she,  "  since  you  carry  such  a 
mighty  sword,  you  no  doubt  wish  to  carry  it  as  a  lady's 
knight,  and  therefore  you  must  consider  it  an  honor  when 
ladies  jest  with  you." 

Napoleon  gave  a  contemptuous  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"  It  is  evident,"  said  he,  scornfully,  "  that  you  are  but  a 
little  school-girl." 

These  sarcastic  words  wounded  the  vanity  of  the  young 
maiden,  and  brought  a  glow  of  anger  on  her  face. 

"  Well,  yes,"  cried  she,  angrily,  "  I  am  a  school-girl,  but 
you — you  are  nothing  else  than  a  puss  in  boots !  " 

A  general  laugh  followed ;  even  Madame  de  Permont, 
ordinarily  so  good  and  so  considerate,  could  not  suppress 
laughter.  The  witty  words  of  the  little  school-girl  were 
too  keen  and  too  applicable  that  she  should  be  subjected 
to  reproach. 

Napoleon's  wrath  was  indescribable.  His  visage  was 
overspread  with  a  yellow-greenish  pallor,  his  lips  were  con- 


90  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

tracted  nervously,  and  already  opened  for  a  word  of  anger. 
But  he  suppressed  that  word  with  an  effort;  for  though 
not  yet  familiar  with  all  the  forms  and  usages  of  society, 
his  fine  tact  and  the  instinct  of  what  was  becoming  told 
him  that  when  the  conversation  ran  into  personalities  the 
best  plan  was  to  be  silent,  and  that  he  must  not  return 
personal  remarks,  since  his  opponent  was  one  of  the  fair 
sex.  He  therefore  remained  silent,  and  so  controlled  him- 
self as  to  join  in  the  general  laughter  and  to  show  himself 
heartily  amused  at  the  unfortunate  nickname  of  the  little 
Cecilia. 

And  that  every  one  might  be  convinced  how  much  he 
himself  had  been  amused  at  this  little  scene,  he  brought,  a 
a  few  days  afterward,  to  the  youngest  daughter  of  Madame 
de  Permont,  a  charming  little  toy  which  he  had  had  made 
purposely  for  her.  This  toy  consisted  of  a  small  gilt 
and  richly  -  ornamented  carriage  of  papier  -  mache,  before 
which  Jeaped  along  a  very  lovely  puss  in  boots. 

To  this  present  for  the  little  Lolotte  (afterward  Duchesa 
d'Abrantes),  was  added  for  Cecilia  an  elegant  and  interest- 
ing edition  of  the  tales  of  "  Puss  in  Boots,"  and  when  Napo- 
leon politely  presented  it  to  the  young  maid  he  begged  her 
to  receive  kindly  this  small  souvenir  from  him. 

"  That  is  too  much,"  said  Madame  de  Permont,  shaking 
her  head.  "  The  toy  for  Loulou  would  have  been  quite 
enough.  But  this  present  to  Cecilia  shows  that  you  took 
her  jest  in  earnest,  and  were  hurt  by  it." 

Napoleon,  however,  affirmed  that  he  had  not  taken  the 
jest  in  earnest,  that  he  had  been  no  wise  hurt  by  it ;  that 
he  himself  when  he  put  on  his  uniform  had  to  laugh  at  the 
nickname  of  "  puss  in  boots  "  which  dear  Cecilia  had  given 
him. 

He  had,  however,  endeavored  no  more  to  deserve  this 
nickname,  and  the  unlucky  boots  were  replaced  by  much 
smaller  and  closer-fitting  ones. 


llilEUTENANT  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  9i 

A  few  days  after  this  little  incident  the  young  second 
lieutenant  left  Paris  and  went  to  meet  his  regiment  La 
F^re  at  Valence. 

A  life  of  labor  and  study,  of  hopes  and  dreams,  now  be- 
gan for  the  young  lieutenant.  He  gave  himself  up  entirely 
to  his  military  service,  and  pursued  earnest,  scientific  studies 
in  regard  to  it.  Mathematics,  the  science  of  war,  geometry, 
and  finally  politics,  were  the  objects  of  his  zeal ;  but  along- 
side of  these  he  read  and  studied  earnestly  the  works  of 
Voltaire,  Comeille,  Kacine,  Montaigne,  the  Abbe  Raynal, 
and,  above  all,  the  works  of  Jean  Jacques  Eousseau,  whose 
passionate  and  enthusiastic  disciple  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
was  at  that  time.* 

Amid  so  many  grave  occupations  of  the  mind  it  would 
seem  that  the  heart  with  all  its  claims  had  to  remain  in  the 
background.  The  smiling  boy  Cupid,  with  his  gracious 
raillery  and  his  smarting  griefs,  seemed  to  make  no  impres- 
sion on  that  pale,  grave,  and  taciturn  artillery  lieutenant, 
and  not  to  dare  shoot  an  arrow  toward  that  bosom  which 
had  mailed  itself  in  an  impenetrable  cuirass  of  misanthropy, 
stoicism,  and  learning. 

But  yet  between  the  links  of  this  coat-of-mail  an  arrow 
must  have  glided,  for  the  young  lieutenant  suddenly  became 
conscious  that  there  in  his  bosom  a  heart  did  beat,  and  that 
it  was  going  in  the  midst  of  his  studies  to  interrupt  his 
dreams  of  misanthropy.  Yes,  it  had  come  to  this,  that  he 
abandoned  his  study  to  pay  his  court  to  a  young  lady,  that 
at  her  side  he  lost  his  gravity  of  mien,  his  gloomy  taciturn- 
ity, and  became  joyous,  talkative,  and  merry,  as  beseemed  a 
young  man  of  his  age. 

The  young  lady  who  exercised  so  powerful  an  influence 
upon  the  young  Bonaparte  was  the  daughter  of  the  com- 
manding officer  at  Valence,  M.  de  Colombier.     He  loved 

*  "  Memoires  du  Roi  Joseph,"  vol.  i.,  p.  33. 


96  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

her,  but  his  lips  were  yet  too  timid  to  confess  it,  and  of 
what  need  were  words  to  these  young  people  to  understand 
one  another  and  to  know  what  the  one  felt  for  the  other  ? 

In  the  morning  they  took  long  walks  through  the  beau- 
tiful park ;  they  spoke  one  to  another  of  their  childhood, 
of  their  brothers  and  sisters,  and  when  the  young  maid  with 
tears  in  her  eyes  listened  to  the  descriptions  which  Napo- 
leon made  to  her  of  his  country,  of  his  father's  house,  and, 
above  all  things,  of  his  mother — when  she  with  animation 
and  enthusiasm  declared  that  Letitia  was  a  heroine  greater 
than  whom  antiquity  had  never  seen,  then  Napoleon  would 
take  her  two  hands  in  his  and  thank  her  with  tremulous 
voice  for  the  love  which  she  consecrated  to  his  noble  mother. 

If  in  the  morning  they  had  to  separate,  as  an  indemni- 
fication an  evening  walk  in  the  light  of  the  moon  was  agreed 
upon,  and  the  young  maid  promised  heroically  to  come  with- 
out uncertainty,  however  imperative  was  her  mother's  pro- 
hibition. And  truly,  when  her  mother  was  asleep,  she 
glided  down  into  the  park,  and  Napoleon  welcomed  her 
with  a  happy  smile,  and  arm  in  arm,  happy  as  children, 
they  wandered  through  the  paths,  laughing  at  their  own 
shadows,  which  the  light  of  the  moon  in  wondrous  distor- 
tion made  to  dance  before  them.  They  entered  into  a  small 
bower,  which  stood  in  the  shadow  of  trees,  and  there  the 
young  Napoleon  had  prepared  for  the  young  maid  a  very 
pleasing  surprise.  There  on  the  table  was  a  basket  full  of 
her  favorite  fruit — full  of  the  sweetest,  finest  cherries. 
Louise  thanked  her  young  lover  with  a  hand-pressure  for 
the  tender  attention,  but  she  declared  that  she  would  touch 
none  of  the  cherries  unless  Napoleon  enjoyed  them  with 
her,  and  to  please  his  beloved  he  liad  to  obey. 

They  sat  down  on  the  seat  before  the  bower  and  enjoyed 
the  golden  light  of  the  moon,  the  night  air  amid  the  lime- 
trees,  the  joy  of  being  thus  secretly  together,  and  with  infi- 
nite delight  they  ate  of  the  sw^et  juicy  cherries.     But  when 


LIEUTENANT  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  93 

the  last  cherry  was  eaten,  the  moon  became  darkened,  a  rude 
night  breeze  shook  the  trees,  and  made  the  young  maid 
tremble  with  cold.  She  must  not  remain  from  home  any 
longer,  she  must  not  expose  herself  to  the  dangerous  night 
air ;  thus  argued  the  considerate  tenderness  of  the  young 
lieutenant,  and,  kissing  her  hand,  he  bade  farewell  to  Louise, 
and  watched  until  the  tender  ethereal  figure  had  vanished 
behind  the  little  door  which  led  from  the  park  into  the 
house.* 

The  sweet  idyl  of  his  first  love  had,  however,  come  to  a 
sudden  and  unexpected  end.  The  young  Second- Lieuten- 
ant Bonaparte  was  ordered  to  Lyons  with  his  regiment,  and 
the  first  innocent  romance  of  his  heart  was  ended. 

But  he  never  forgot  the  young  maid,  whom  he  then  had 
so  tenderly  loved,  and  in  the  later  days  of  his  grandeur  he 
remembered  her,  and  when  he  learned  that  she  had  lost  her 
husband,  a  M.  de  Bracieux,  and  lived  in  very  depressing 
circumstances,  he  appointed  her  maid  of  honor  to  his  sister 
Elise,  and  secured  her  a  very  handsome  competency. 

The  dream  of  his  first  love  had  been  dreamed  away; 
and,  perhaps  to  forget  it,  Napoleon  again  in  Lyons  gave 
himself  up  with  deepest  earnestness  to  study.  The  Acade- 
my of  Sciences  in  Lyons  had  offered  a  prize  for  the  answer 
to  the  question :  "  What  are  the  sentiments  and  emotions 
'which  are  to  be  instilled  into  men,  so  as  to  make  them 
happy?" 

Napoleon  entered  the  lists  for  this  prize,  and,  if  his  work 
did  not  receive  the  prize,  it  furnished  the  occasion  for  the 
Abbe  Eaynal,  who  had  answered  the  question  successfully, 
to  become  acquainted  with  the  young  author,  and  to  encour- 
age him  to  persevere  in  his  literary  pursuits,  for  which  he 
had  exhibited  so  much  talent. 

Napoleon  then,  with  all  the  fire  of  his  soul,  began  a  new 

*  "  Memorial  de  St.  Helene,"  p.  80. 


94  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

work,  the  history  of  the  revolutions  in  Corsica ;  and,  in  or- 
der to  make  accurate  researches  in  the  archives  of  Ajaccio, 
he  obtained  leave  of  absence  to  go  thither.  In  the  year 
1788,  Napoleon  returned  to  his  native  isle  to  his  mother,  to 
his  brothers  and  sisters,  all  of  whom  he  had  not  seen  for 
nine  years,  and  was  welcomed  by  them  with  the  tenderest 
affection. 

But  the  joys  of  the  family  could  draw  away  the  young 
man  but  little  from  his  studies  and  researches ;  and,  how- 
ever much  he  loved  his  mother,  brothers  and  sisters,  now 
much  grown  up,  yet  he  preferred  being  alone  with  his  elder 
brother  Joseph,  making  long  walks  with  him,  and  in  solemn 
exchange  of  thoughts  and  sentiments,  communicating  to 
him  his  studies,  his  hopes,  his  dreams  for  the  future. 

To  acquire  distinction,  fame,  reputation  with  the  actual 
world,  and  immortality  with  the  future — such  was  the  ob- 
ject on  which  all  the  wishes,  all  the  hopes  of  Napoleon  were 
concentrated ;  and  in  long  hours  of  conversation  with  Jo- 
seph he  spoke  of  the  lofty  glory  to  carve  out  an  immortal 
name,  to  accomplish  deeds  before  which  admiring  posterity 
would  bow. 

Did  Napoleon  then  think  of  purchasing  for  himself  an 
immortal  name  as  writer,  as  historian  ?  At  least  he  studied 
very  earnestly  the  archives  of  Ajaccio,  and  sent  a  prelimi- 
nary essay  of  his  history  of  the  revolutions  of  Corsica  to 
Raynal  for  examination.  This  renowned  savant  of  his  day 
warmly  congratulated  the  young  author  on  his  work,  and 
asked  him  to  send  a  copy  that  he  might  show  it  to  Mira- 
beau. 

Napoleon  complied  with  these  wishes ;  and  when,  a  few 
weeks  after,  he  received  a  letter  from  Raynal,  after  reading 
it,  he,  with  radiant  eyes  and  a  bright  smile,  handed  it  to  his 
brother  Joseph. 

In  this  letter  of  Raynal  were  found  these  words :  "  Mon- 
sieur de  Mirabeau  has  in  this  little  essay  found  traits  which 


LIEUTENANT  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  95 

announce  a  genius  of  the  first  rank.  He  entreats  the  young 
author  to  come  to  him  in  Paris."  * 

But  the  young  author  could  not  at  once  obey  the  call  of 
the  Count  de  Mirabeau.  A  sad  family  bereavement  delayed 
him  at  the  time  in  Corsica.  The  brother  of  his  grandfather, 
the  aged  Archdeacon  Lucian,  the  faithful  counsellor  and 
friend  of  Letitia  and  of  her  young  family,  was  seized  with 
a  mortal  disease ;  the  gout,  which  for  years  had  tormented 
him,  was  now  to  give  him  the  fatal  blow,  and  the  whole 
family  of  the  Bonapartes  was  called  to  the  bedside  of  the 
old  man  to  receive  his  parting  words. 

Weeping,  they  all  stood  around  his  couch;  weeping, 
Letitia  bent  over  the  aged  man,  whose  countenance  was 
already  signed  with  the  hand  of  death.  Around  kneeler' 
the  younger  children  of  Letitia,  for  their  great-uncle  had 
long  been  to  them  a  kind  father  and  protector ;  and  on  the 
other  side  of  the  couch,  facing  Letitia  and  her  brother,  the 
Abbe  Fesch,  stood  Joseph  and  Napoleon,  gazing  with  sad 
looks  on  their  uncle. 

His  large,  already  obscured  eyes  wandered  with  a  deep, 
searching  glance  upon  all  the  members  of  the  Bonaparte 
family,  and  then  at  last  remained  fixed  with  a  wondrous 
brilliancy  of  expression  on  the  pale,  grave  face  of  Napoleon. 

At  this  moment,  the  Abbe  Fesch,  with  a  voice  trembling 
with  emotion  and  full  of  holy  zeal,  began  to  intone  the 
prayers  for  the  dead.  But  the  old  priest  ordered  him  with 
a  voice  full  of  impatience  to  be  silent. 

"  I  have  prayed  long  enough  in  my  life,"  said  he ;  "I 
have  now  but  a  few  moments  to  live,  and  I  must  give  them 
to  my  family." 

The  loud  sobbings  of  Letitia  and  of  her  children  inter- 
rupted him,  and  called  forth  a  last  genial  smile  upon  the 
already  stiffening  features. 

•  "  Memoires  du  Roi  Joseph,"  vol.  i.,  p.  33. 


96  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

"  Letitia,"  said  he,  in  a  loud,  friendly  tone,  "  Letitia) 
cease  to  shed  tears ;  I  die  happy,  for  I  see  you  surrounded 
by  all  your  children.  My  life  is  no  longer  necessary  to  the 
children  of  my  dear  Charles ;  I  can  therefore  die.  Joseph 
is  at  the  head  of  the  administration  of  the  country,  and  he 
will  know  how  to  take  care  of  what  belongs  to  his  family. 
You,  Napoleon,"  continued  he,  with  a  louder  voice,  "  you 
will  be  a  great  and  exalted  man."  * 

His  eyes  turned  on  Napoleon,  he  sank  back  on  the  cush- 
ions, and  his  dying  lips  murmured  yet  once  more,  "  7ht 
serai  unomone  !  " 

After  the  body  of  the  worthy  great-uncle  had  been  laid 
in  the  grave,  Napoleon  left  Corsica  to  return  to  France  and 
to  his  regiment,  for  the  time  of  his  leave  of  absence  had  ex- 
pired. 

For  the  second  time  the  lips  of  a  dying  man  had  proph- 
esied him  a  great  and  brilliant  future.  His  dying  father 
had  said  that  one  day  the  sword  of  his  son  Napoleon  would 
make  all  Europe  bow  under  the  yoke ;  his  great-uncle  had 
prophesied  he  would  be  a  great  and  exalted  personage. 

To  these  prophecies  of  the  dying  is  to  be  added  Mira- 
beau's  judgment,  which  called  Napoleon  a  genius  of  the  first 
stamp. 

But  this  great  and  glorious  future  was  yet  screened  un- 
der dark  clouds  from  the  eyes  of  the  young  lieutenant  of 
artillery,  and  the  blood-dripping  hand  of  the  Revolution 
was  first  needed  to  tear  away  these  clouds  and  to  convert  the 
king's  lieutenant  of  artillery  into  the  Emperor  of  France ! 

*  "  Tu  pot,  Napoleon,  serai  unomone,"  such  were  the  words  of  the 
dying  man,  assures  us  King  Joseph  in  his  memoirs ;  whilst  Las  Casas, 
in  his  memorial  of  St.  Helena,  makes  Napoleon  relate  that  his  uncle 
had  told  him,  "  You,  Napoleon,  will  be  the  head  of  the  family." 


A  PAGE  FROM  HISTORY.  97 

CHAPTER  YIIL 

A   PAGE   FROM   HISTORY. 

The  dark  clouds  which  hung  yet  over  the  future  of 
Napoleon  Bonaparte,  the  lieutenant  of  artillery,  were  gather- 
ing in  heavier  and  heavier  masses  over  all  France,  and  al- 
ready were  overshadowing  the  throne  of  the  lilies. 

Marie  Antoinette  had  already  abandoned  the  paradise  of 
innocency  in  Trianon,  and  when  she  came  there  now  it  was 
to  weep  in  silence,  to  cast  away  the  mask  from  her  face, 
and  under  the  garb  of  the  proud,  imperious,  ambitious 
queen  to  exhibit  the  pallid,  anxious  countenance  of  the 
woman. 

Alas !  they  were  passed  away,  those  days  of  festivity, 
those  innocent  joys  of  Trianon  ;  the  royal  farmer's  wife  had 
no  more  the  heart  to  carry  the  spindle,  to  gather  eggs  from 
the  hens'  nests,  and  to  perform  with  her  friends  the  joyous 
idyls  of  a  pastoral  life. 

The  queen  had  procured  for  herself  a  few  years  of  free- 
dom and  license  by  banishing  from  Versailles  and  from  the 
Tuileries  the  burdensome  Madame  Etiquette,  who  hitherto 
had  watched  over  every  step  of  a  Queen  of  France,  but  in 
her  place  Madame  Politique  had  entered  into  the  palace, 
and  Marie  Antoinette  could  not  drive  her  away  as  she  had 
done  with  Madame  Etiquette. 

For  Madame  Politique  came  into  the  queen's  apart- 
ments, ushered  in  by  a  powerful  and  irresistible  suite.  The 
failure  of  the  crops  throughout  the  land,  want,  the  cries  of 
distress  from  a  famishing  people,  the  disordered  finances  of 
the  state — such  was  the  suite  which  accompanied  Politique 
before  the  queen ;  pamphlets,  pasquinades,  sarcastic  songs 
on  Marie  Antoinette,  whom  no  more  the  people  called  their 
queen,  but  already  the  foreigner,  L* Autrichienne — such 
were  the  gifts  which  Politique  brought  for  the  queen. 


98  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

The  beautiful  and  innocent  days  of  Trianon  were  gone 
no  longer  could  Marie  Antoinette  forget  that  she  was  a 
queen !  The  burden  of  her  lofty  position  pressed  upon  her 
always ;  and,  if  now  and  then  she  sought  to  adorn  her  head 
with  roses,  her  crown  pressed  their  thorns  with  deeper  pain 
into  her  brow. 

Unfortunate  queen !  Even  the  circle  of  friends  she  had 
gathered  round  her  person  only  urged  her  on  more  and 
more  into  the  circle  which  politics  had  traced  around  her. 
In  her  innocency  and  thoughtlessness  of  heart  she  imagined 
that,  to  a  queen  as  to  any  other  woman,  it  might  be  allowed 
to  have  about  her  friends  and  confidants,  to  enjoy  the  pleas- 
ures of  society,  and  to  amuse  one  another !  But  now  she 
had  to  learn  that  a  queen  dare  not  have  confidants,  friends, 
or  social  circles ! 

Her  friends,  in  whose  disinterestedness  she  had  trusted, 
approached  her  with  demands,  with  prayers ;  they  claimed 
power,  influence,  and  distinctions ;  they  all  wanted  to  rule 
through  the  queen ;  they  all  wanted  through  her  to  impose 
laws  to  king  and  state ;  they  wanted  to  name  and  to  depose 
ministers;  they  wanted  their  friendship  to  be  rewarded 
with  embassies,  ministerial  offices,  decorations,  and  titles. 

And  when  Marie  Antoinette  refused  compliance  with 
their  wishes,  her  beautiful  friends,  the  Duchesses  de  Poli- 
gnac,  wept,  and  her  friends,  Messieurs  Vesenval,  Vaudreuil, 
Coigny,  and  Polignac,  dared  be  angry  and  murmur  at  her. 

But  when  Marie  Antoinette  consented — when  she  used 
her  influence  with  the  king,  to  satisfy  the  wishes  of  her 
friends,  and  to  make  ministers  of  her  fa^on — then  the 
queen's  enemies,  with  loud,  mad-dog  cry,  lifted  up  the  voice 
and  complained  and  clamored  that  it  was  no  more  the  king 
but  the  queen  who  reigned ;  that  she  was  the  one  who  pre- 
cipitated the  nation  into  wretchedness  and  want ;  that  she 
gave  millions  to  her  friends,  whilst  the  people  were  perish- 
ing with  hunger ;  that  she  sent  millions  to  her  brother,  the 


A  PAGE  FROM  HISTORY.  99 

Emperor  of  Austria,  whilst  the  country  was  only  able  to 
pay  the  interest  of  her  enormous  debt ;  that  she,  in  unre- 
strained appetite  and  licentiousness,  lived  only  for  pleasure 
and  festivities,  whilst  France  was  depressed  under  misery 
and  want. 

And  the  queen's  enemies  were  mightier,  more  numerous, 
and  more  loyal  one  to  another  than  the  queen's  friends, 
who  were  ever  ready  to  pass  into  the  camp  of  her  foes  as 
soon  as  Marie  Antoinette  gratified  not  their  wishes  and 
would  not  satisfy  their  political  claims. 

At  the  head  of  these  enemies  was  the  king's  brother,  the 
Count  de  Provence,  who  never  forgave  the  queen  for  being 
an  Austrian  princess  ;  there  were  also  the  king's  aunts,  who 
could  never  forgive  her  that  the  king  loved  her,  that  by 
means  of  this  love  to  his  wife  they  should  lose  the  influence 
which  these  aunts,  and  especially  Madame  Adelaide,  had 
before  exercised  over  him ;  there  was  the  Duke  d'Orleans, 
who  had  to  revenge  himself  for  the  disgust  and  dislike  which 
Marie  Antoinette  publicly  expressed  against  this  vicious 
and  wild  prince ;  there  was  the  Cardinal  Prince  de  Rohan, 
whose  criminal  passion  the  queen  had  repelled  with  con- 
temptuous disgust,  and  who  had  paid  for  this  passion  one 
million  francs,  with  imprisonment,  shame,  and  ridicule. 
For  this  passion  for  the  queen  had  blinded  the  cardinal, 
and  made  him  believe  in  the  possibility  of  a  return.  In  his 
blindness  he  had  placed  confidence  in  the  whisperings  and 
false  promises  of  the  insidious  intriguer  Madame  de  la 
Motte-Valois,  who,  in  the  queen's  name,  asked  from  him  a 
loan  of  a  million  for  the  purchase  of  a  jewelled  ornament 
which  highly  pleased  the  queen,  and  which  she,  notwith- 
standing her  exhausted  coffers,  was  resolved  ^o  possess. 

Yes,  love  had  blinded  Cardinal  de  Rohan,  and  with 
blind  eyes  he  had  accepted  as  letters  from  the  queen  those 
which  Madame  de  la  Motte  brought  him  ;  and  he  could  not 
see  that  the  person  who  gave  him  a  rendezvous  in  the  gar- 


100  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

dens  of  Versailles  was  not  the  queen,  but  only  a  common, 
vicious  woman,  who  had  been  clothed  in  the  queen's  gar- 
ments. 

The  queen  had  been  travestied  into  a  wench,  and  the 
highest  ecclesiastical  dignitary  of  the  land  was  the  one  who 
took  this  wench  for  his  queen,  was  the  one  who,  with  a 
rendezvous,  a  kiss  on  the  hand,  and  a  rose,  was  rewarded  for 
the  million  he  had  given  to  the  jeweller  for  a  necklace  of 
diamonds ! 

It  is  true,  the  deception  was  discovered ;  it  is  true,  it 
was  Marie  Antoinette  herself  who  asked  for  a  strict  investi- 
gation, who  with  tears  of  anger  required  from  her  consort 
that  this  horrible  intrigue  which  had  been  M'oven  round 
her  person  should  be  investigated  and  judged  publicly  be- 
fore the  Parliament ;  that  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan  should  be 
punished  for  the  criminal  insult  offered  by  him  to  the 
queen,  since  he  thought  her  capable  of  granting  him  a  ren- 
dezvous, of  exchanging  with  him  letters  of  tender  passion, 
and  of  accepting  gifts  from  him  ! 

But  the  Parliament,  which  recognized  the  guilt  of 
Madame  de  la  Motte,  which  ordered  her  to  be  whipped, 
branded,  and  driven  out  of  the  country  as  an  impostor  and  a 
thief,  the  Parliament  declared  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan  inno- 
cent ;  all  punishments  were  removed  from  him,  and  he  was 
re-established  in  all  his  dignities  and  rights.  And  the  peo- 
ple, who  in  enormous  masses  had  besieged  the  Parliament 
buildings,  welcomed  this  decision  of  the  judges  with  loud 
demonstrations  and  shouts  of  joy,  and  carried  the  cardinal 
in  triumph  through  the  streets,  and  honored  and  glorified 
him  as  a  martyr  and  a  saint. 

This  triumph  of  the  cardinal  was  an  affecting  defeat  to 
the  queen ;  it  was  the  first  awful  testimony,  spoken  loudly 
and  openly,  by  the  popular  sentiment. 

Hitherto  her  enemies  had  worked  against  her  quietly, 
and  in  the  darkness  of  night ;  but  now,  in  open  day,  they 


A  PAGE  FROM  HISTORY.  101 

dared  launch  against  her  their  terrible  accusations,  and 
represent  her  imprudence  as  a  crime,  her  errors  as  shame- 
ful and  premeditated  wickedness.  No  one  believed  in  the 
queen's  innocency  in  this  necklace  transaction ;  and  whereas 
Cardinal  de  Rohan  had  been  made  a  martyr,  whereas  Par- 
liament had  declared  him  innocent,  the  queen  consequently 
must  be  the  guilty  one,  to  whose  cupidity  the  cardinal  and 
the  unfortunate  Madame  de  la  Motte  and  also  the  beautiful 
D'Olivia,  who  in  this  horrible  farce  had  played  the  part  of 
the  queen,  had  been  sacrificed. 

The  name,  the  character,  the  reputation  of  the  queen, 
had  been  trodden  down  in  the  dust,  and  the  Count  de  Pro- 
vence, who  himself  composed  sarcastic  songs  and  pasqui- 
nades against  his  royal  sister-in-law,  and  had  copies  of  them 
circulated  through  the  court,  reflected  not  that  in  calum- 
niating the  queen  and  exposing  her  to  the  scorn  and  ridi- 
cule of  the  world  he  thereby  shook  the  throne  itself,  and 
imperilled  the  awe  and  respect  which  the  people  should 
have  had  for  the  monarchy.  And  all  the  other  mighty  dig- 
nitaries and  foes  of  Marie  Antoinette  did  not  calculate  that 
in  exciting  the  storm  of  calumny  against  the  Queen  of 
France,  they  also  attacked  the  king  and  the  aristocracy, 
and  tore  down  the  barrier  which  hitherto  had  stood  between 
the  people  and  the  nobility. 

Hitherto  pamphlets  and  sarcastic  songs  only  had  been 
directed  against  the  queen ;  but  now,  in  the  year  1787,  all 
France  was  to  re-echo  a*  pamphlet  launched  against  the 
nobility  and  the  whole  aristocracy. 

This  pamphlet  was  "  The  Wedding  of  Figaro,"  by  Beau- 
marchais.  The  habits  of  the  aristocracy,  of  the  higher 
classes,  were  in  this  drama  castigated  and  thrown  to  the 
scorn,  ridicule,  and  laughter  of  all  France.  Every  thing 
which  the  people  hitherto  had  held  sacred,  was  laughed  at 
in  this  drama ;  all  the  laws  of  manners,  of  rank,  of  morality, 
were  scorned  at,  hissed  at ;  and,  under  this  hissing,  appe-ared 


102  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

in  full  view  and  with  fearful  veracity  the  rotten  and  poi- 
soned condition  of  the  so-called  upper  classes  of  society. 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  censor  declared  the  publication 
illegal,  and  prohibited  the  representation  of  "  The  Wedding 
of  Figaro."  The  opposition  took  advantage  of  this  measure, 
and  since  it  could  not  be  published,  hundreds  of  copies  were 
circulated ;  and,  if  it  could  not  be  represented,  its  reading 
was  listened  to.  It  soon  became  fashionable  to  attend  at 
the  readings  of  "  Figaro's  Wedding  "  and  to  possess  a  copy 
of  the  drama.  Even  in  the  queen's  social  circle,  in  the 
circle  of  the  Polignacs,  this  dangerous  drama  was  patron- 
ized, and  even  the  queen  was  requested  to  use  her  influence 
upon  the  king  for  its  representation. 

This  general  clamor,  this  tempest  of  the  public  opinion, 
excited  even  the  king's  curiosity ;  and  as  everybody  at- 
tended the  readings  of  Beaumarchais'  drama,  the  crowned 
heads  had  also  to  bow  to  the  fashion.  Madame  de  Campan 
had  to  read  before  the  king  and  the  queen  this  renowned 
"  Wedding  of  Figaro,"  so  that  the  king  might  give  his  de- 
cision. The  good-natured  countenance  of  the  king  dark- 
ened more  and  more,  and  during  Figaro's  monologue,  in 
which  the  different  institutions  of  the  state  are  ridiculed, 
especially  when,  with  words  full  of  poison  and  scorn,  the 
author  alludes  to  state-prisons,  the  king  rose  angrily  from 
his  seat. 

"  It  is  a  contemptible  thing,"  cried  he,  vehemently. 
"TheBastile  must  be  destroyed  Isef ore  the  representation 
of  this  piece  would  not  appear  as  a  dangerous  inconse- 
quence. This  man  ridicules  every  thing  which  in  a  state 
ought  to  be  esteemed  and  respected." 

"  This  piece  will  not  then  be  represented  ?  "  asked  Marie 
Antoinette,  at  the  close  of  the  reading. 

"  No,  certainly  not  ! "  exclaimed  Louis,  "  you  can  be 
convinced  of  it;  this  piece  will  not  be  represented." 

But  the  clamor,  the  longings  for  this  representation  were 


A  PAGE  FROM  HISTORY.  103 

more  and  more  loudly  expressed,  and  more  and  more  press- 
ing. It  was  in  vain  that  the  king  by  his  decree  forbade  its 
already-announced  representation  in  the  theatre  of  the 
menus  plaisirs.  Beaumarchais  cried  aloud  to  the  murmur- 
ing audience,  who  complained  very  loudly  against  this 
tyranny,  against  this  oppression  of  the  king,  the  consoling 
words  :  "  Well,  sirs,  the  king  desires  that  my  drama  be  not 
represented  here,  but  I  swear  that  it  will  be  represented, 
perhaps  even  in  the  chancel  of  Notre  Dame." 

It  was  soon  apparent  that  Beaumarchais'  words  and  the 
wishes  of  the  public  opinion  were  stronger  than  the  words 
and  the  wishes  of  the  king  and  of  his  highest  ofl&cers.  The 
king  himself  felt  it  and  acknowledged  it  soon ;  he  shrugged 
his  shoulders  compassionately  when  the  chdJicellor  of  the 
seal,  adhering  still  to  his  opposition,  would  by  no  means 
consent  to  the  performance  of  the  drama. 

"  You  will  see,"  said  Louis,  with  his  own  soft,  good- 
natured  smile — "  you  will  see  that  Beaumarchais'  credit  is 
better  than  that  of  the  great-seal  bearer."  * 

The  king's  prophecy  was  correct — Beaumarchais  had 
mdre  credit  than  the  chancellor !  His  powerful  patrons  in 
high  places,  and  all  those  who  made  opposition  to  the  king 
and  queen,  and  at  their  head  the  Count  de  Provence,  banded 
together  to  have  this  piece  publicly  represented.  The  king's 
consent  was  elicited  from  him  by  the  assurance  made  public 
that  Beaumarchais  had  stricken  out  of  his  drama  all  the  of- 
fensive and  captious  parts,  and  that  it  was  now  a  mere  inno- 
cent and  somewhat  tedious  piece. 

The  king  gave  his  consent,  and  "  The  Wedding  of  Fi- 
garo "  was  represented  at  the  Tliedtre  FrariQais. 

The  effect  of  this  drama  on  the  public  was  a  thing  un- 
heard of ;  so  enthusiastic  that  Beaumarchais  himself  laugh- 
ingly said :  "  There  is  something  yet  more  foolhardy  than 

*  "  Memoires  de  Madame  de  Campan,"  vol.  i.,  p.  279. 

8 


104  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

my  piece,  and  that  is,  its  result " — that  the  renowned  actress 
Sophie  Arnold,  in  allusion  to  this,  that  the  opponents  of  this 
drama  had  prophesied  that  it  would  fall  through,  exclaimed  : 
"  The  piece  will  fall  through  to-day  more  than  fifty  times 
one  after  another ! " 

But  even  this  prophecy  of  the  actress  did  not  reach  the 
full  result,  and  the  sixtieth  representation  was  as  crowded 
as  the  first  All  Paris  wanted  to  see  it,  so  as  to  hiss  the  gov- 
ernment, the  nobility,  clergy,  morality.  There  was  a  rush 
from  the  provinces  to  Paris  for  the  sake  of  attending  the 
representation  of  "  Figaro's  Wedding ; "  and  even  those  who 
hitherto  had  opposed  the  performance,  pressed  forward  to 
see  it. 

One  day  Beaumarchais  received  a  letter  from  the  Duke 
de  Villequier,  asking  of  him  as  a  favor  to  give  up  for  that 
evening  his  trellised  box  in  behalf  of  some  ladies  of  the 
court,  who  desired  to  see  "  Figaro  "  without  being  seen. 

Beaumarchais  answered :  "  My  lord  duke,  I  have  no  re- 
spect for  ladies  who  desire  to  see  a  performance  which  they 
consider  improper,  and  who  wish  to  see  it  under  cover.  I 
cannot  stoop  to  such  fancies.  I  have  given  my  piece  to  the 
public  to  amnse  and  not  to  instruct  them,  not  to  procure  to 
tamed  wenches  {begueules  mitigees)  the  satisfaction  of  think- 
ing well  of  the  piece  in  a  small  trellised  box,  and  then  to  say 
all  manner  of  evil  against  it  in  public.  The  pleasure  of  vice 
and  the  honors  of  virtue,  that  is  what  the  prudery  of  our 
age  demands.  My  piece  is  not  double-faced.  It  must  be 
accepted  or  repelled.  I  salute  you,  my  lord  duke,  and  keep 
my  box."  * 

All  Paris  chuckled  over  this  letter,  which  was  circulated 
in  hundreds  of  copies,  as  the  dramji  itself  had  circulated  at 
first.  Every  one  was  convinced  that  it  was  the  queen  who 
wanted  to  attend  the  representation  of  "  Figaro "  in  th« 

♦  "  Correspondsnce  de  Diderot  et  Grimm  avec  un  Souverain." 


A  PAGE  PROM  HISTORY.  105 

trellised  box ;  for  it  was  well  known  that  the  queen,  angry 
at  monsieur  for  having  been  present  with  all  his  suite  at  a 
representation  in  the  box  reserved  for  the  court,  had  openly 
declared  :  "  Could  she  come  to  the  conclusion  of  seeing  thig 
drama,  she  would  only  see  it  through  a  small  trellised  box, 
and  that  without  any  ceremony." 

In  laughing  at  the  letter  of  Beaumarchais,  the  ridicule 
was  directed  against  the  queen,  who  had  been  refused  in  so 
shameful  a  manner.  But  Marie  Antoinette  did  not  wish  to 
be  laughed  at.  She  still  hoped  to  overcome  her  enemies, 
and  to  win  the  public  sentiment.  She  requested  an  inves- 
tigation, she  insisted  that  the  Duke  de  Villequier  should 
openly  acknowledge  for  whom  among  the  ladies  of  the  court 
he  had  asked  for  the  box  ;  that  Beaumarchais  should  pub- 
licly confess  that  he  had  not  dared  suppose  his  words  were 
directed  against  the  queen. 

The  whole  matter  was  brought  to  an  end  by  an  arbitrary 
decree.  Beaumarchais  was  compelled  publicly  to  acknowl- 
edge that  his  famous  letter  was  directed  neither  to  a  duke 
nor  to  a  peer,  but  to  one  of  his  friends,  whose  strange  re- 
quest he  had  thus  answered  in  the  first  flush  of  anger.  But 
it  is  evident  no  one  believed  in  this  explanation,  and  every 
one  felt  pleasure  in  referring  to  the  queen  the  expression  of 
"  hegiieule  mitigee." 

Paris,  which  for  a  whole  winter  had  laughed  at  a  theat- 
rical piece,  and  was  satiated  with  it,  was  now  to  assist  at  the 
first  scene  of  a  drama  whose  tragical  power  and  force  were 
to  tear  France  asunder,  and  whose  continuance  was  to  be 
marked  by  blood  and  tears. 

This  important  drama,  whose  opening  followed  closely 
Beaumarchais'  drama,  exhibited  its  first  scene  at  Versailles 
at  the  opening  of  the  States-General  on  the  5th  of  May, 
1789.  All  Paris,  all  France  watched  this  event  as  the  rise 
of  a  new  sun-,  of  a  new  era  which  was  to  break  upon  France 
and  bring  her  happiness,  salvation,  and  strength.    A  new, 


106  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

an  unsuspected  power  entered  with  it  upon  the  scene,  the 
Tiers  Etat ;  the  third  class  was,  at  the  opening  of  tlie  States- 
General,  solemnly  recognized  as  a  third  power,  alongside  of 
the  nobility  and  clergy.  With  the  third  class,  the  people 
and  the  yeomen  entered  into  the  king's  palace  ;  one-half  of 
the  people  were  to  make  the  laws  instead  of  having  to  sub- 
mit to  them. 

It  was  Marie  Antoinette  who  had  endeavored  with  all 
her  influence  on  the  king  that  the  third  class,  hitherto 
barely  recognized,  barely  tolerated,  should  appear  in  a  two- 
fold stronger  representation  at  the  States-General ;  it  was 
the  queen  also  who  had  requested  Necker's  recall.  Un- 
fortunate woman,  who  bowed  both  pride  and  will  to  the 
wishes  of  public  opinion,  who  yet  hoped  to  succeed  in  win- 
ning again  the  people's  love,  since  she  endeavored  to  meet 
the  wishes  of  the  people ! 

But  this  love  had  turned  away  from  her  forever ;  and 
•whatever  Marie  Antoinette  might  now  do  to  exhibit  her 
candid  wishes,  her  devotedness  was  not  trusted  in  by  the 
people,  who  looked  upon  her  as  an  enemy,  no  longer  Queen 
of  France,  but  simply  an  Austrian. 

Even  on  this  day  of  universal  joy,  on  the  day  of  tlie 
opening  of  the  States-General,  there  was  no  desire  to  hide 
from  the  queen  the  hatred  felt  against  her,  but  there  was 
the  resolve  to  show  her  that  France,  even  in  her  hour  of 
happiness,  ceased  not  to  make  opposition  to  her. 

The  opening  of  the  States-General  was  to  be  preceded  in 
Versailles  by  divine  service.  In  solemn  procession  the  dep- 
uties arrived ;  and  the  people  who  had  streamed  from  Paris 
and  from  the  whole  region  round  about,  and  who  in  com- 
pact masses  filled  the  immense  square  in  front  of  the  palace, 
and  the  whole  street  leading  to  the  Church  of  St.  Louis,  re- 
ceived the  deputies  with  loud,  unbroken  shouts,  and  met  the 
princes  and  the  king  with  applause.  But  no  sooner  was  the 
queen  in  sight,  than  the  people  remained  dumb ;  and  then, 


A  PAGE  FROM  HISTORY.  107 

after  this  appalling  pause,  which  petrified  the  heart  of  the 
queen,  the  women  with  their  true  instinct  of  hatred  began 
to  cry  out,  "  Long  live  the  Duke  d'Orleans  !  Long  live  the 
people's  friend,  the  good  Duke  d'Orleans !  " 

The  name  of  the  duke  thus  derisively  thrown  in  the  face 
of  the  queen — for  it  was  well  known  that  she  hated  him, 
that  she  had  forbidden  him  to  enter  into  her  apartments — 
this  name  at  this  hour,  thrown  at  her  by  the  people,  struck 
the  queen's  heart  as  the  blow  of  a  dagger ;  a  deathly  pallof 
overspread  her  cheeks,  and  nearly  fainting  she  had  to  throw 
herself  into  the  arms  of  the  Princess  de  Lamballe,  so  as  not 
to  sink  down.* 

With  the  opening  of  the  States-General,  as  already  said, 
began  the  first  act  of  the  great  drama  which  France  was 
going  to  represent  before  the  eyes  of  Europe  terrified  and 
horrified  :  with  the  opening  of  the  States- General  the  revo- 
lution had  begun.  Every  one  felt  it ;  every  one  knew  it ; 
the  first  man  who  had  the  courage  to  express  it  was  Mirabeau 
— Mirabeau,  the  deputy  of  the  Third  Estate,  the  count  who 
was  at  enmity  with  all  those  of  his  rank,  who  had  solemnly 
parted  with  them  to  devote  himself  to  the  people's  service 
and  to  liberty ! 

On  the  day  of  {he  opening,  as  he  entered  the  hall  in 
which  the  States-General  were  convened,  he  gazed  with 
scrutinizing  and  flaming  eyes  on  the  representatives  of  the 
nobility,  on  those  brilliant  and  proud  lords  who,  though  his 
equals  in  rank,  were  now  his  inveterate  enemies.  A  proud, 
disdainful  smile  fluttered  athwart  his  lips,  which  ordinarily 
were  pressed  together  with  a  sarcastic  and  contemptuous  ex- 
pression. He  then  crossed  the  hall  with  the  bearing  of  a 
conqueror,  and  took  his  seat  upon  those  benches  from  which 
was  launched  the  thunderbolt  which  was  to  dash  to  pieces 
the  throne  of  the  lilies. 

*  See  "  Count  Mirabeau,"  by  Theodore  Mundt.  Second  edition, 
vol.  iii.,  p.  224. 


108  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

A  long-tried  friend,  who  was  also  a  friend  of  the  govern- 
ment and  of  the  nobility,  had  seen  this  look  of  hatred  and 
anger  which  Mirabeau  had  cast  upon  the  gallery  of  the 
aristocrats;  he  now  approached  Mirabeau  to  salute  him, 
and  perhaps  to  pave  a  way  of  reconciliation  between  the 
prodigal  Count  de  Mirabeau  and  his  associates  in  rank. 

"Think,"  said  he,  "  my  friend,  that  society  is  not  to  be 
won  by  threats,  but  by  flatteries ;  that,  when  once  injured, 
?t  is  difficult  to  effect  a  reconciliation.  You  have  been 
unjust  toward  society,  and  if  you  look  for  forgiveness  you 
must  not  be  obstinate,  but  you  must  stoop  to  ask  for 
pardon." 

Mirabeau  had  listened  with  impatience,  but  at  the  word 
"  pardon,"  his  anger  broke  with  terrible  force.  He  sprang 
up,  stamped  violently  on  the  floor  with  his  feet ;  his  hair 
which,  like  a  lion's  mane,  mantled  his  head,  seemed  to 
bristle  up,  his  little  eyes  darted  flashes,  and  his  lips  were 
blanched  and  trembling,  and  with  a  thundering  voice  he 
exclaimed :  "  I  am  not  here  to  implore  pardon  for  myself, 
but  that  others  should  sue  for  mercy." 

Was  Mirabeau  himself  willing  to  grant  pardon  ?  Had 
he  come  with  a  reconciling  heart  into  this  assembly,  where 
people  and  king  were  to  measure  their  rights  one  against 
the  other? 

As  the  good  King  Louis  this  day  entered  the  hall,  in  all 
the  pomp  of  his  royal  dignity,  to  welcome  the  States-Gen- 
eral with  k  solemn  address,  Mirabeau's  eyes  were  fixed  on 
him  :  "  Behold  the  victim,"  said  he.* 

From  this  day  the  struggle  began — the  struggle  of  the 
monarchy  against  the  revolution,  of  the  liberal  party  against 
the  reaction,  the  struggle  of  the  people  against  the  aristoc- 
racy, against  every  thing  which  hitherto  had  been  legiti- 
mate, welcomed,  and  sacred  ! 

♦  Theodore  Mundt :  "  Graf  Mirabeau,"  vol,  iv.,  p.  15. 


JOSEPHINE'S  RETURN.  109 

A  new  day  had  broken  in,  and  the  prophetic  mind  of 
the  queen  understood  that  with  it  came  the  storm  which 
was  to  scatter  into  fragments  her  happiness  and  her  peace. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

JOSEPHINE'S   RETUEN. 

To  rest ! — to  forget !  This  was  what  Josephine  sought 
for  in  Martinique,  and  what  she  found  in  the  circle  of  her 
friends.  She  wanted  to  rest  from  the  pains  and  struggles 
which  had  agitated  the  last  years  of  her  life.  She  wanted 
to  forget  that  she  still  loved  the  Viscount  de  Beauharnais, 
though  rejected  and  accused,  though  he  had  treacherously 
abandoned  her  for  the  sake  of  another  woman. 

But  he  was  the  father  of  her  children,  and  there  was 
Hortense  with  her  large  blue  eyes  and  her  noble,  lovely 
countenance  to  remind  Josephine  of  the  father  to  whom 
Hortense  bore  so  close  a  resemblance.  Josephine's  tender- 
heartedness would  not  suffer  the  innocent,  childish  heart 
of  Hortense  to  become  alienated  from  her  father,  or  to 
forget  the  esteem  and  respect  which  as  a  daughter  she  owed 
to  him.  Josephine  therefore  never  allowed  any  one  to  utter 
a  word  of  blame  against  her  husband  in  the  presence  of  her 
daughter ;  she  even  imposed  silence  on  her  mother  when, 
in  the  just  resentment  of  a  parent  who  sees  her  child  suf- 
fer, she  accused  the  man  who  had  brought  wretchedness 
on  her  Josephine,  who  at  so  early  an  age  had  taught  her  life's 
sorrows. 

How  joyous,  beautiful,  happy  had  her  Josephine  nearly 
ten  years  ago  left  her  home,  her  country,  her  family,  to  go 
to  a  foreign  land  which  attracted  her  with  every  thing  which 
can  charm  a  young  girl — with  the  love  of  a  young  and  beau- 


110  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

tif ul  husband — with  the  luxury,  the  pleasures  and  festivities 
of  Paris ! 

And  now  after  ten  years  Josephine  returned  to  her 
father's  home,  lonely,  abandoned,  unhappy,  blighted  with 
the  mildew  which  ever  deteriorates  the  character  of  a  di- 
vorced woman ;  yet  so  young,  with  so  many  ruined  hopes, 
with  so  many  wounds  in  the  heart ! 

Josephine's  mother  could  not  pardon  him  all  this,  and 
her  countenance  became  clouded  whenever  the  little  Hor- 
tense  spoke  of  her  father.  And  the  child  spoke  of  him  so 
often — for  each  evening  and  morning  she  had  to  pray  God 
in  his  behalf — and  when  she  asked  her  mother  where  her 
brother  Eugene  was,  why  he  had  not  come  with  them  to 
Martinique,  Josephine  answered  her,  he  had  remained  with 
his  father,  who  loved  him  so  much,  and  who  must  have  at 
least  one  of  his  children  with  him. 

"Why  then  can  he  not,  with  Eugene,  be  with  us?" 
asked  the  little  Hortense,  thoughtfully.  "  Why  does  he  re- 
main in  that  hateful,  stony  Paris,  whilst  he  could  live  with 
us  in  the  beautiful  garden  where  so  many  charming  flow- 
ers and  so  many  large  trees  are  to  be  found  ?  Why  is  papa 
not  with  us,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Because  he  has  occupations — because  he  cannot  leave 
his  regiment,  my  child,"  answered  Josephine,  carefully  hid- 
ing her  tears. 

"  If  he  cannot  come  to  us,  mamma,  then  let  us  go  to 
him,"  cried  the  loving  child.  "  Come,  mamma,  let  us  go 
on  board  a  ship,  and  let  us  go  to  our  dear  papa,  and  to  my 
dear  brother  Eugene." 

"  We  must  wait  until  your  father  sends  for  us,  until  he 
imtes  that  we  must  come,"  said  Josephine,  with  a  sad 
smile.    "  Pray  to  God,  my  child,  that  he  may  soon  do  it ! " 

.  And  from  this  time  the  child  prayed  God  every  evening 
that  her  father  would  soon  send  for  her  mother  and  for  her- 
self ;  and  whenever  she  saw  her  mother  receive  a  letter  she 


JOSEPHINE'S  RETURN.  HI 

said  :  "  Is  it  a  letter  from  my  papa  ?    Does  he  write  for  us 
to  travel  and  to  come  to  him  ?  " 

One  day  Josephine  was  enabled  to  answer  this  question 
to  her  daughter  with  a  proud  and  joyous  yes. 

Yes,  the  Viscount  de  Beauharnais  had  begged  his  wife  to 
forget  the  past,  and  to  come  back  to  him.  He  had,  with  all 
the  contrition  of  penitence,  with  the  glow  of  an  awakening 
love,  prayed  for  pardon ;  he  requested  from  her  large-heart- 
edness  to  be  once  more  reunited  to  him  who  had  despised^ 
calumniated,  and  rejected  her ;  he  swore  with  sacred  oaths 
to  love  her  alone,  and  to  keep  to  her  in  unbroken  faithful- 
ness. 

At  first  Josephine  received  these  vows  with  a  suspicious, 
sorrowful  smile;  the  wounds  of  her  heart  were  not  yet 
healed,  the  bitter  experiences  of  the  past  were  yet  too  fresh 
in  her  mind ;  and  Madame  de  la  Pagerie,  Josephine's  moth- 
er, repelled  with  earnestness  every  thought  of  reconciliation 
and  reunion.  She  did  not  wish  to  lose  her  daughter  a  sec- 
ond time,  and  see  her  go  to  meet  a  dubious  and  dangerous 
happiness ;  she  did  not  wish  that  Josephine,  barely  returned 
to  the  haven  of  rest  and  peace,  should  once  more  risk  her- 
self on  the  open,  tempestuous  ocean  of  life. 

But  the  letters  of  the  viscount  were  more  and  more 
pressing,  more  and  more  tender.  He  had  completely  and 
forever  broken  with  Madame  de  Gisard  ;  he  did  not  wish  to 
see  her  again,  and  henceforth  he  desired  to  be  the  true,  de- 
y^oted  husband  of  his  Josephine. 

Josephine  read  these  assurances,  these  vows  of  love,  with 
a  joyous  smile,  with  a  beating  heart :  all  the  crushed  flowers 
of  her  youth  raised  up  their  blossoms  again  in  her  heart ; 
she  began  again  to  hope,  to  trust,  to  believe  once  more  in 
the  possibility  of  happiness ;  she  was  ready  to  listen  to  her 
husband's  call,  and  to  hasten  to  him. 

But  her  mother  held  her  back.  She  believed  not,  she 
trusted  not.     Her  insulted  maternal  heart  could  not  forget 


112  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

the  humiliations  and  the  sufferings  which  this  man  who  now 
called  for  Josephine  had  inflicted  upon  her  daughter.  She 
could  not  pardon  the  viscount  for  having  deserted  his  young 
wife,  and  that  for  the  sake  of  a  coquette !  She  therefore 
sought  to  inspire  Josephine  with  mistrust ;  she  told  her  that 
these  vows  of  the  viscount  were  not  to  be  relied  upon ;  that 
he  had  not  given  up  his  paramour  to  come  back  to  Jose- 
phine, but  that  he  was  forsaken  by  her  and  abandoned  by 
her.  Madame  de  Gisard  had  regretted  to  be  only  the  para- 
mour of  the  Viscount  de  Beauharnais,  and,  as  she  could 
never  hope  to  be  his  legitimate  wife,  she  had  abandoned 
him,  to  marry  a  wealthy  Englishman,  with  whom  she  had 
left  France  to  go  with  him  to  Italy. 

At  this  news  Josephine's  head  would  sink  down,  and, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes  and  sorrow  in  her  heart,  she  promised 
her  mother  no  more  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  a  faithless  hus- 
band ;  no  more  to  value  the  assurances  of  a  love  which  only 
returned  to  her  because  it  was  rejected  elsewhere. 

Meanwhile,  not  only  the  Viscount  de  Beauharnais  prayed 
Josephine  to  return,  but  also  his  father  the  marquis  claimed 
this  from  his  beloved  daughter-in-law ;  even  Madame  de 
Renaudin  confirmed  the  entire  conversion  of  Alexandre, 
and  conjured  Josephine  to  hesitate  no  longer  once  more  to 
take  possession  of  a  heart  which  beat  with  so  burning  a  sor- 
row and  so  longing  a  love  toward  her.  She  pictured  to  her, 
besides,  how  necessary  she  was  to  hira  ;  how  much  in  these 
troublous  and  stormy  days  which  had  just  begun,  he  was  in 
need  of  a  quiet  haven  of  domestic  life,  there  to  rest  after 
the  labors  and  the  conflicts  of  politics  and  of  public  life ; 
how  many  dangers  surrounded  him,  and  how  soon  it  might 
happen  that  he  would  need  not  only  a  household  refuge  but 
also  a  nurse  who  would  bind  his  wounds  and  keep  watch 
near  the  bed  of  sickness. 

For  the  times  of  quietness  were  gone ;  the  brand  which 
the  States-General  had  flung  over  France  had  lit  a  fire  every- 


JOSEPHINE'S  RETURN.  113 

where,  in  every  city,  in  every  house,  in  every  head ;  and  the 
flaming  speeches  of  the  deputies  of  the  Third  Estate  only 
fanned  the  fire  into  higher  flames. 

The  revolution  was  there,  and  nothing  could  keep  back 
the  torrent  of  blood,  fire,  enthusiasm,  and  hatred.  Already 
the  Third  Estate  had  solemnly  proclaimed  its  separation 
from  Old  France,  from  the  ancient  monarchy  of  the  lilies, 
since  that  monarchy  had  abandoned  the  large  assembly-hall 
where  the  States- General  held  their  sessions,  and  in  which 
the  nobility  and  the  clergy  still  imagined  they  were  able  to 
maintain  the  balance  of  power  against  the  despised  Third 
Estate.  The  Tiers  Etat  had,  in  the  ballroom,  converted 
itself  into  the  National  Assembly,  and  with  enthusiasm  had 
all  these  deputies  of  the  third  class  sworn  on  the  17th  of 
June,  1789,  "  never  to  part  one  from  the  other  until  they 
had  given  a  constitution  to  France." 

Alexandre  de  Beauharnais,  deputy  from  Blois,  had  passed 
with  his  colleagues  into  the  ballroom,  had  with  them  taken 
the  fatal  oath ;  in  the  decisive  night  of  the  4th  of  August 
lie,  with  burning  enthusiasm,  had  renounced  all  the  privi- 
leges of  the  nobility,  all  his  feudal  rights ;  and,  breaking 
with  the  past,  with  all  its  family  traditions  and  customs, 
had  passed,  with  all  the  passion  and  zest  of  his  nine-and- 
twenty  years,  into  the  hostile  camp  of  the  people  and  of 
liberty. 

The  revolution,  which  moved  onward  with  such  rash 
and  destructive  strides,  had  drawn  Alexandre  de  Beauhar- 
nais more  and  more  into  its  flood.  It  had  converted  the 
king's  major  into  an  enthusiastic  speaker  of  the  Jacobins, 
then  into  the  secretary  of  the  National  Assembly,  and  final- 
ly into  its  president. 

The  monarchy  was  not  yet  powerless ;  it  fought  still 
with  all  the  bitterness  of  despair,  of  the  pains  of  death, 
against  its  foes;  it  still  found  defenders  in  the  National 
Assembly,  in  the  faithful  regiments  of  the  Swiss  and  of  the 


114  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

guards,  and  in  the  hearts  of  a  large  portion  of  the  people. 
The  passions  of  parties  were  let  loose  one  against  another ; 
and  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais,  the  president  of  the  Nation- 
al Assembly,  stood  naturally  in  the  first  rank  of  those  who 
were  threatened  by  the  attacks  of  the  royalists. 

Yes,  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  was  in  danger  !  Since 
Josephine  knew  this,  there  was  for  her  but  one  place  which 
belonged  to  her,  to  which  she  could  lay  claim — the  place  at 
her  husband's  side. 

How  could  she  then  have  withstood  his  appeals,  his 
prayers  ?  How  could  she  then  have  remained  in  the  soli- 
tude and  stillness  of  Martinique,  when  her  husband  was 
now  in  the  fight,  in  the  very  struggle  ?  She  had,  now  that 
fate  claimed  it,  either  to  share  her  husband's  triumphs,  or 
to  bring  him  comfort  if  he  fell. 

The  intercessions  of  her  family,  even  the  tears  of  her 
mother,  could  no  longer  retain  Josephine ;  at  the  side  of 
her  husband,  the  father  of  her  two  children,  there  was  her 
place !  No  one  could  deprive  her  of  it,  if  she  herself  wished 
to  occupy  it. 

She  was  entitled  to  it,  she  was  still  the  wife  of  the  Vis- 
count de  Beauharnais.  The  Parliament,  which  had  pro- 
nounced its  verdict  against  the  demands  of  a  divorce  from 
the  viscount,  had,  in  declaring  Josephine  innocent,  con- 
demned her  husband  to  receive  into  hi^  house  his  wife,  if 
she  desired  it ;  or  else,  in  case  she  waived  this  right,  to  pay 
her  a  fixed  annual  income. 

Josephine  had  parted  voluntarily  from  her  husband, 
since  she  had  not  returned  to  him,  but  had  exiled  herself 
with  her  father-in-law  and  her  aunt  in  Fontainebleau  ;  but 
she  had  never  laid  claims  to  nor  received  the  income  which 
Parliament  had  appointed.  She  had  never  assumed  the 
rights  of  a  divorced  wife,  but  she  retained  still  all  the  privi- 
leges of  a  married  woman,  who  at  God's  altar  had  bound 
herself  to  her  husband  for  a  whole  life,  in  a  wedlock  which. 


JOSEPHINE'S   RETURN.  115 

being  performed  according  to  the  laws  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  was  indissoluble. 

Now  the  yiscount  claimed  his  wife,  and  who  dared  keep 
her  back  if  she  wished  to  follow  this  call?  Who  could 
stand  between  husband  and  wife,  when  their  hearts  claimed 
and  longed  for  this  reunion  ? 

The  tears  of  Madame  de  la  Pagerie  had  attempted  it, 
but  had  not  succeeded  !  The  soft,  patient,  pliant  Josephine 
had  suddenly  become  a  strong-minded,  joyous,  courageous 
woman  ;  the  inconveniences  of  a  long  sea- voyage,  the  perils 
of  the  revol-ution,  into  whose  open  crater  she  was  to  enter, 
affrighted  her  not.  All  the  energies  of  her  being  began  to 
develop  themselves  under  the  first  sunbeams  of  a  renewed 
love !  The  years  of  sorrow  had  passed  away.  Life,  love 
called  Josephine  again,  and  she  listened  to  the  call,  jubilant 
and  full  of  friendly  trust  of  undimmed  hope  ! 

In  the  first  days  of  September,  1790,  Josephine,  with 
the  little  Hortense,  embarked  from  Martinique,  and  after  a 
short,  favorable  passage,  landed  in  France,  in  the  middle  of 
October.* 

Again  a  prophecy  accompanied  Josephine  to  France, 
and  perhaps  this  prophecy  is  to  be  blamed  for  her  sudden 
departure  and  her  unwavering  resolution  to  leave  Marti- 
nique. The  old  negro  woman  who,  once  before  Josephine's 
departure,  had  prophesied  that  she  would  wear  a  crown  and 
be  more  than  a  Queen  of  France — the  old  Euphemia  was 

*  If,  in  the  work  "  Queen  Hortense,  an  Historical  Sketch  from  the 
Days  of  Napoleon,"  I  have  given  a  few  different  details  of  Josephine's 
return  to  France  and  to  her  husband,  I  have  followed  the  error  com- 
mon to  all  the  historians  of  that  time,  who  represent  Josephine  returning 
despite  her  husband's  will,  who  receives  her  into  his  house,  and  recog- 
nizes her  as  his  wife,  only  at  the  instant  supplication  of  his  family, 
and  especially  of  his  children.  It  is  only  of  late  that  all  this  has  been 
satisfactorily  refuted,  and  that  it  has  been  proved  that  Josephine  re- 
turned only  at  the  instance  of  her  husband's  pressing  demands.  See 
Aubenas,  "  Histoire  de  I'lmperatrice  Josephine,"  vol.  i.,  p.  164. — L.  M, 


110  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

still  living,  and  was  still  considered  as  an  infallible  oracle. 
A  few  days  before  her  departure,  Josephine,  with  all  the 
superstitious  faith  of  a  Creole,  went  to  ask  the  old  prophet- 
ess if  her  journey  would  be  propitious. 

The  old  Euphemia  stared  long  and  fixedly  into  Jose- 
phine's smiling  countenance ;  then,  as  if  overcome  by  a  sud- 
den thought,  she  exclaimed :  "  Go !  go  as  fast  as  possible, 
for  death  and  danger  threaten  you !  Already  are  on  the 
watch  wicked  and  bloodthirsty  fiends,  who  every  moment 
are  ready  to  rush  among  us  with  fire  and  sword,  and  to  de- 
stroy the  colony  in  their  cruel  wrath  ! " 

"  And  shall  I  safely  arrive  in  France  ?  "  asked  Josephine. 
"  Shall  I  again  see  my  husband?" 

"You  will  see  him  again,"  exclaimed  the  prophetess, 
"but  hasten  to  go  to  him." 

"  Is  he  threatened  with  any  danger  ?  "  demanded  Jose- 
phine. 

"  Not  yet ! — not  at  once  ! "  said  the  old  negress.  "  They 
now  applaud  your  husband  and  recognize  his  services.  But 
he  has  powerful  enemies,  and  one  day  they  will  threaten 
his  life,  and  will  lead  him  to  the  scaffold  and  murder 
him!" 

Before  Josephine  left  Martinique,  a  portion  of  these 
prophecies  of  the  old  negro  woman  were  to  be  fulfilled. 
The  wicked  and  bloodthirsty  fiends,  of  whom  she  said  they 
were  ready  with  fire  and  sword  to  rush  upon  the  colony — 
those  fiends  did  light  the  firebrand  and  destroy  the  peace  of 
Martinique. 

The  resounding  cries  for  freedom  uttered  in  the  National 
Assembly,  and  which  shook  the  whole  continent,  had  rushed 
along  across  the  ocean  to  Martinique.  The  storm-wind  of 
the  revolution  had  on  its  wings  borne  the  wondrous  story  to 
Martinique — the  wondrous  story  of  man's  sacred  rights, 
which  Lafayette  had  proclaimed  in  the  National  Assembly, 
the  wondrous  story  that  man  was  born  free,  that  he  ought 


THE  DAYS  OP  THE  REVOLUTION.  HY 

to  remain  free,  that  there  were  to  be  no  more  slaves  in  the 
land  of  liberty,  in  France,  and  in  her  colonies. 

The  storm-wind  which  brought  this  great  news  across 
the  ocean  to  Martinique  scattered  it  into  the  negro-cabins, 
and  at  first  they  listened  to  it  with  wondrous  delight.  Then 
the  delirium  of  joy  came  over  them ;  jubilant  they  broke 
their  chains,  and  in  wild  madness  anticipated  their  human 
rights,  their  personal  freedom. 

The  revolution,  with  its  terrible  consequences  of  blood 
and  horrors,  broke  loose  in  Martinique,  and,  exulting  in 
freedom,  the  slaves  threw  the  firebrand  on  the  roof  of  their 
former  masters,  rushed  with  war's  wild  cry  into  their  dwell- 
ings, and,  in  freedom's  name,  punished  those  who  so  long 
had  punished  them  in  tyranny's  name. 

Amid  the  barbaric  shouts  of  those  dark  free  men,  Jose- 
phine embarked  on  board  the  ship  which  was  to  carry  her 
and  her  little  Hortense  to  France ;  and  the  flames  which 
rose  from  the  roofs  of  the  houses  as  so  many  way-marks 
of  fire  for  the  new  era,  were  Josephine's  last,  sad  farewell 
from  the  home  which  she  was  never  to  see  again.* 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   DAYS   OF  THE   REVOLUTION. 

Happiness  had  once  more  penetrated  into  the  heart  of 
Josephine.  Love  again  threw  her  sun-gleams  upon  her  ex- 
istence, and  filled  her  whole  being  with  animation  and  joy. 
She  was  once  more  united  to  her  husband,  who,  with  tears 
of  joy  and  repentance,  had  again  taken  her  to  his  heart. 
She  was  once  more  with  her  relatives,  who,  in  the  day  of 

♦  Le  Normand,  "  Memoires  de  I'lmp^ratrice  Josephine,"  vol.  i.,  p^ 
U7. 


118  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

distress,  had  shown  her  so  much  love  and  faithfulness,  and 
finally  she  had  also  her  son,  her  own  dear  Eugene,  from 
whom  she  had  been  separated  during  the  sad  years  of  their 
matrimonial  disagreements. 

How  different  was  the  husband  she  now  found  from  him 
she  had  quitted  !  He  was  now  a  man,  an  earnest,  thoughtful 
man,  with  a  fiery  determination,  with  decidedness  of  pur- 
pose, and  yet  thoughtful,  following  only  what  reason  ap- 
proved, even  if  the  heart  had  been  the  mover.  The  pas- 
sions of  youth  had  died  away.  The  excitable,  thoughtless, 
pleasure-seeking  oflBcer  of  the  king  had  become  a  grave,  in- 
dustrious, indefatigable,  moral,  austere  servant  of  the  people 
and  of  liberty.  The  songs  of  joy,  of  equivocal  jesting,  of 
political  satire,  had  died  away  on  those  lips  which  only 
opened  now  in  the  clubs,  in  the  National  Assembly,  to  utter 
inspired  words  in  regard  to  liberty,  fraternity,  and  equality. 

The  mbst  beautiful  dancer  of  Versailles  had  become  th6 
president  of  the  National  Assembly,  which  made  so  many 
tears  run,"  and  awoke  so  much  anger  and  hatred  in  the 
king's  palace  of  Versailles.  He  at  least  helonged  to  the 
constitutional  fraction  of  the  National  Assembly ;  he  was 
the  friend  and  guest  of  Mirabeau  and  of  Lafayette ;  he  was 
the  opponent  of  Kobespierre,  Marat,  and  Danton,  and  of  all 
the  fanatics  of  the  Mountain  party,  who  already  announced 
their  bloody  views,  and  claimed  a  republic  as  the  object  of 
their  conflicts. 

Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  was  no  republican,  however 
enthusiastic  he  might  have  been  in  favor  of  America's 
struggle  for  freedom,  however  deeply  he  had  longed  to  go 
like  Lafayette  to  America,  for  the  sake  of  assisting  the 
Americans  to  break  the  chains  which  yoked  them  to  Eng- 
land, so  as  to  build  a  republic  for  themselves.  The  enthu- 
siasm of  that  day,  the  enthusiasm  for  France  had  driven 
him  upon  the  path  of  the  opposition ;  but  while  desiring 
freedom  for  the  people,  he  still  hoped  that  the  people's  free- 


THE  DAYS  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  119 

dom  was  compatible  with  the  power  and  dignity  of  the 
crown  ;  that  at  the  head  of  constitutional  France  the  throne 
of  a  constitutional  king  would  be  maintained.  To  bring  to 
pass  this  reunion,  this  balance  of  right  between  the  mon- 
archy and  the  people,  such  was  the  object  of  the  wishes  of 
Alexandre  de  Beauharnais ;  this  was  the  ultimate  aim  of  hisi 
struggles  and  longings. 

Josephine  looked  upon  these  tumultuous  conflicts  of 
parties,  upon  this  wild  storm  of  politics,  with  wondering, 
sad  looks.  With  all  the  tact  of  tender  womanhood  she  held 
herself  aloof  from  every  personal  interference  in  these  po- 
litical party  strifes.  At  the  bottom  of  her  heart  a  true  and 
zealous  royalist,  she  guarded  herself  carefully  from  endeav- 
oring to  keep  her  husband  back  from  his  chosen  path,  and 
to  bring  into  her  house  and  family  the  party  strifes  of  the 
political  arena.  She  wanted  and  longed  for  peace,  unity, 
and  rest,  and  in  his  home  at  least  her  husband  would  have 
no  debates  to  go  through,  no  sentiments  to  fight  against. 

In  silence  and  devoted ness  Josephine  submitted  to  her 
husband's  will,  and  left  him  to  perform  his  political  part, 
while  she  assumed  the  part  of  wife,  mother,  of  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  household ;  and  every  evening  opened  her 
drawing-room  to  her  friends,  and  to  her  husband's  associates 
in  the  same  conflict. 

What  a  mixed  and  extraordinary  assemblage  was  seen  in 
the  drawing-room  of  the  president  of  the  Nd^tional  Assem- 
bly !  There  were  the  representatives  of  old  France,  the 
brilliant  members  of  the  old  nobility:  the  Duke  de  la 
Rochefoucauld,  the  Count  de  Montmorency,  the  Marquis  de 
Caulaincourt,  the  Prince  de  Salm- Cherbourg,  the  Princess 
von  Hohenzollem,  Madame  de  Montesson,  the  wife  of  the 
old  Duke  d'Orleans ;  and  alongside  of  these  names  of  the 
ancien  regime^  new  names  rose  up.  There  were  the  deputies 
of  the  National  Assembly — Barnave,  Mounier,  Thouvet, 
Lafayette,  and  the  favorite  of  the  people,  the  great  Mira- 


120  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

bean.  Old  France  and  Young  France  met  here  in  this 
drawing-room  of  Josephine  on  neutral  grounds,  and  the 
beautiful  viscountess,  full  of  grace  and  prudence,  offered  to 
them  both  the  honors  of  her  house.  She  listened  with 
modest  bashfulness  to  the  words  of  the  great  tribunes  of  the 
people,  and  oftentimes  with  a  smile  or  a  soft  word  she 
reconciled  the  royalists,  those  old  friends  who  sought  in 
this  drawing-room  for  the  Viscountess  de  Beauharnais,  and 
found  there  only  the  wife  of  the  president  of  the  National 
Assembly. 

The  saloon  of  Josephine  was  soon  spoken  of,  and  seemed 
as  a  haven  in  which  the  refined,  elegant  manners,  the  grace, 
the  wit,  the  esprit^  had  been  saved  from  the  stormy  flood  of 
political  strife.  Every  one  sought  the  privilege  of  being 
admitted  into  this  drawing-room,  whose  charming  mistress 
in  her  own  gentleness  and  grace  received  the  homage  of  all 
parties,  pleased  every  one  by  her  loveliness,  her  charms,  the 
fine,  exquisite  tact  with  which  she  managed  at  all  times  the 
sentiments  of  the  company,  and  with  which  she  knew  how 
to  guide  the  conversation  so  that  it  would  never  dwindle 
into  political  debates  or  into  impassioned  speeches. 

However  violent  was  the  tempest  of  faction  outside, 
Josephine  endeavored  that  in  the  interior  of  her  home  the 
serene  peace  of  happiness  should  prevail.  For  she  was  now 
happy  again,  and  all  the  liveliness,  all  the  joys  of  youth,  had 
again  found  entrance  into  her  mind.  The  anguish  endured, 
the  tears  shed,  had  also  brought  their  blessing ;  they  had 
strengthened  and  invigorated  her  heart ;  with  their  grave, 
solemn  memories  they  preserved  Josephine,  that  child  of  the 
South,  of  the  sun,  and  of  joy,  from  that  light  frivolity  which 
otherwise  is  so  often  the  common  heritage  of  the  Creoles. 

The'viscount  had  now  the  satisfaction  which  ten  years 
ago,  at  the  beginning  of  his  married  life,  he  had  so  intently 
longed  for,  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  his  wife  occupied  with 
grave  studies,  with  the  culture  of  her  own  mind  and  talents. 


THE  DAYS  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.       121 

It  was  to  him  a  ravishment  to  see  Josephine  in  her  drawing- 
room  in  earnest  conversation  with  Buffon,  and  with  all  the 
aptitude  of  a  naturalist  speak  of  the  organization  and  forma- 
tion of  the  different  families  of  plants ;  he  exulted  in  the 
open  praise  paid  to  her  when,  with  her  fine,  far-reaching 
voice,  she  sang  the  songs  of  her  home,  which  she  herself 
accompanied  on  the  harp ;  he  was  proud  when,  in  her  saloon,, 
with  all  the  tact  and  assurance  of  a  lady  of  the  world,  she- 
took  the  lead  in  the  conversation,  and  could  speak  with 
poets  and  authors,  with  artists  and  savants,  and  that,  with 
understanding  and  feeling,  upon  their  latest  works  and 
creations ;  he  was  made  happy  when,  passing  from  serious 
gravity  to  the  most  innocent  gayety,  she  jested,  laughed, 
and  danced,  as  if  she  were  yet  the  sixteen-year-old  child 
whom  ten  years  ago  he  had  made  his  wife,  and  from  whom 
he  had  then  so  cruelly  exacted  that  she  should  demean  her- 
self as  a  fine,  experienced,  and  highly-refined  lady. 

Life  had  since  undertaken  to  mould  the  young  Creole 
into  an  elegant,  highly-accomplished  woman,  but  fortunately" 
life  had  been  impotent  to  change  her  heart,  and  that  heart 
was  ever  beating  in  all  the  freshness  of  youth,  in  all  the 
joyous  warmth  and  faithfulness  of  the  young  girl  of  sixteen 
years  who  had  come  to  France  with  so  many  ideal  visions,. 
so  many  illusions,  so  many  dreams  and  hopes.  It  is  true 
this  ideal  had  vanished  away,  these  illusions  had  burst  into 
pieces  like  meteors  in  the  skies ;  the  dreams  and  hopes  of 
the  young  maiden  heart  had  fallen  into  dust,  but  the  love, 
the  confiding,  faithful,  hoping  love,  the  love  assured  of  the 
future,  had  remained  alive ;  it  had  overcome  the  storms  and 
conflicts ;  it  had  been  Josephine's  consolation  in  the  days 
of  sorrow ;  it  was  now  her  delight  in  these  days  of  happi- 
ness. 

Her  whole  heart,  her  undivided  love,  belonged  to  her 
husband,  to  her  children,  and  often  from  the  society  gath- 
ered in  her  reception-rooms,  she  would  slip  away  and  hasten 


122  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

to  the  bed  of  her  little  Hortense  to  bid  good-night  to  the 
child,  who  never  would  sleep  without  bidding  good-night  to 
its  mother,  who  would  kneel  at  the  side  of  the  crib  with 
little  Hortense,  and  utter  the  evening  prayer,  asking  of  God 
to  grant  to  them  all  prosperity  and  peace ! 

But  this  peace  which  Josephine  so  earnestly  longed  for 
was  soon  to  be  imperilled  more  and  more,  was  to  be  banished 
from  the  interior  of  home  and  family,  from  its  most  sacred 
asylum,  by  the  revolution  and  its  stormy  factions. 

An  important  event,  pregnant  with  results,  suddenly 
moved  all  Paris,  and  filled  the  minds  of  all  with  the  most 
fearful  anticipations. 

The  king,  with  his  wife  and  children,  had  fled  !  Openly 
and  irretrievably  he  had  separated  himself  from  country  and 
people ;  he  had,  by  this  flight,  solemnly  expressed  before  all 
Europe  the  discord  which  existed  between  him  and  his  peo- 
ple, between  the  king  and  the  constitution  to  which  he  had 
sworn  allegiance. 

Alexandre  de  Beauhamais,  the  president  of  the  National 
Assembly,  was  the  first  to  be  informed  of  this  extraordinary 
event.  On  the  morning  of  the  21st  of  June,  1791,  M.  de 
Bailly,  mayor  of  Paris,  came  to  announce  to  him  that  the 
king  with  all  his  family  had  fled  from  Paris  the  previous 
evening. 

It  was  the  hour  at  which  the  sessions  of  the  National 
Assembly  began  every  morning,  and  Beauhamais,  accom- 
panied by  Bailly,  hastened  to  the  Assembly.  The  deputies 
were  already  seated  when  the  president  took  the  chair  with 
a  grave,  solemn  countenance.  This  countenance  told  the 
deputies  of  the  people  that  the  president  had  an  important 
and  very  unusual  message  to  communicate,  and  a  deep 
stillness,  an  oppressive  silence,  overspread  the  whole  assem- 
blage as  the  president  rose  from  his  seat  to  address  them. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  with  a  voice  which,  amid  the 
general  silence,  sounded  solemn  and  powerful — "gentlemen. 


THE  DAYS  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.       123 

I  have  a  sad  message  to  bring  before  you.  The  mayor  of 
Paris  has  just  now  informed  me  that  the  king  and  his  fam- 
ily have  this  night  been  seduced  into  flight  by  the  enemies 
of  the  people."  * 

This  news  had  a  stupendous  effect  on  the  deputies.  At 
first  they  sat  there  dumb,  as  if  petrified  with  fear;  then 
they  all  rose  up  to  make  their  remarks  and  motions  in  a 
whirl  of  confusion,  and  it  required  all  the  energy  and  de- 
termination of  the  president  to  re-establish  peace,  and  to 
control  their  minds. 

The  Assembly  then,  in  quiet  debate,  resolved  to  declare 
itself  in  permanent  session  until  the  termination  of  this 
crisis,  and  gave  to  the  president  full  power  during  this  time 
to  provide  for  the  tranquillity  and  security  of  the  Assembly. 
Bailly  and  Lafayette  were  by  the  president  summoned  be- 
fore the  deputies,  to  state  what  the  sentiments  of  Paris  were, 
what  was  the  attitude  of  the  National  Guards,  what  were 
the  precautions  they  had  taken  to  preserve  aright  the  peace 
of  Paris. 

But  this  peace  was  not  in  danger,  and  the  only  one  whom 
the  Parisian  people  at  this  moment  dreaded,  was  he  who 
had  fied  from  Paris — the  king  .  And  yet,  not  for  a  moment 
did  the  people  rise  in  anger  against  the  king ;  actuated  by  a 
new  and  overpowering  thought,  the  -  eople  in  their  enthusi- 
asm for  this  idea  forgot  their  anger  against  him  who  by  his 
deed  had  kindled  this  thought.  The  thought  which  was 
uppermost  in  all  minds  at  the  fiight  of  the  king  was  this : 
that  the  state  could  subsist  even  if  there  were  no  king  at  its 
head ;  that  law  and  order  still  remained  in  Paris,  even  when 
the  king  had  fied. 

This  law  and  order  was  the  National  Assembly,  the  living 
representation  and  embodiment  of  the  law  ;  the  government 
was  there ;  the  king  alone  had  disappeared.     Such  was  the 

•  Aubenas,  "  Histoire  de  I'lmperatrice  Josephine,"  voL  i.,  p.  171. 


124  THE  IMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

sentiment  which  animated  all  classes,  which  brought  the 
people  in  streaming  masses  to  the  palace  where  the  National 
Assembly  held  its  sittings.  A  few  hours  after  the  news  of 
the  king's  flight  had  spread  through  Paris,  thousands  were 
besieging  the  National  Assembly,  and  shouting  enthusias- 
tically :  "  Our  king  is  here ;  he  is  in  the  hall  of  session. 
Louis  XVI.  can  go ;  he  can  do  what  he  wills ;  our  king  is 
«till  in  Paris  ! "  * 

The  Assembly,  "  the  King  of  Paris,"  remained  in  per- 
manent session,  waiting  for  the  developments  of  events,  and 
working  out  in  committees  the  decrees  passed  in  common 
deliberation,  whilst  the  president  and  the  secretary  remained 
the  whole  night  in  the  council-room,  so  as  to  be  ready  at 
any  moment  to  receive  fresh  news  and  to  issue  the  necessary 
orders. 

Early  next  morning  the  most  important  news  had  reached 
the  president,  and  the  deputies  hastened  from  their  respect- 
ive committees  into  the  hall  of  session,  there  to  take  their 
seats. 

Amid  the  breathless  silence  of  the  Assembly,  President 
Beauharnais  announced  that  the  king,  the  queen,  the  dau- 
phin, Madame,  and  divers  persons  of  their  suite,  had  been 
arrested  in  Varennes. 

The  Assembly  received  this  communication  with  digni- 
fied quietude,  for  they  were  conscious  that  the  king's 
return  would  in  no  wise  impair  their  own  sovereignty,  that 
the  power  was  in  their  hands,  even  if  the  king  were  there. 
In  this  full  assurance  of  their  dignity  the  National  Assem- 
bly passed  a  decree  ordering  the  proper  authorities  "  to  pro- 
tect the  king's  return,  to  seize  and  imprison  all  those  who 
might  forget  the  respect  they  owed  to  the  royal  dignity." 

At  the  same  time  the  National  Assembly  sent  from  their 
number  two  deputies,  Barnave  and  Potion,  to  bring  back 

*  Prudhomme,  "  Histoire  Parl^mentaire  de  la  Revolution,"  vol.  x> 
T>.241. 


THE  -DAYS  OP  THE  REVOLUTION.  125 

from  Varennes  the  unfortunate  royal  family  and  to  accom- 
pany them  to.  Paris. 

Meanwhile  the  news  of  the  king's  capture  only  increased 
the  people's  enthusiasm  for  the  National  Assembly,  the  truly 
acknowledged  sovereign  of  France.  Every  one  was  anxious 
to  give  expression  to  this  enthusiasm  ;  the  National  Guards 
of  Paris  begged  for  the  privilege  of  taking  the  oath  of  alle- 
giance to  the  National  Assembly,  and  when  at  the  motion  of 
the  president  this  was  granted  by  the  Assembly,  a  whole  de- 
tachment was  marched  into  the  hall  so  as  to  take  the  oath 
of  allegiance  to  the  National  Assembly  with  one  voice,  amid 
the  applause  of  the  Assembly  and  the  triljunes.  This  de- 
tachment was  followed  by  fresh  companies,  and  the  people 
filled  the  streets  to  see  the  National  Guards  come  and  go, 
and  like  them  to  swear  allegiance  to  the  National  Assembly 
with  enthusiastic  shouts. 

The  provinces  would  not  be  a  whit  behind  the  enthusi- 
asm of  Paris  ;  and  whilst  the  guards  swore  their  oath,  from 
all  cities  and  provinces  came  to  the  president  of  the  National 
Assembly,  addresses  congratulating  the  Assembly  on  its  tri- 
umphs, and  promising  the  most  unconditional  devotedness. 

Finally  after  two  days  of  restless  activity,  after  two  days, 
during  which  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  had  hardly  found 
time  to  quiet  his  wife  by  a  note,  explaining  his  absence  from 
home,  finally  a  courier  brought  the  news  that  the  captive 
royal  family  were  entering  Paris.  A  second  courier  followed 
the  first.  He  announced  that  the  royal  family  had  reached 
the  Tuileries  surrounded  by  an  immense  crowd,  whose  ex- 
citement caused  serious  apprehensions.  Petion  had,  there- 
fore, thought  it  expedient  not  to  allow  the  royal  family  to 
alight,  but  had  confined  them  to  the  two  carriages,  and  he 
now  sent  the  keys  of  these  two  carriages  to  the  president  of 
the  National  Assembly,  as  it  was  now  his  duty  to  adopt  still 
further  measures. 

Beauharnais  proposed  that  at  once  twenty  deputies  hi? 


126  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

chosen  to  speed  on  to  the  Tuileries  to  deliver  the  royal  fam- 
ily from  their  prison,  and  to  lead  them  into  the  palace. 

The  motion  was  carried,  and  the  deputies  reached  the 
court  of  the  Tuileries  yet  in  time  to  save  the  affrighted  family 
from  the  people,  who,  in  their  wild  madness,  were  about  to 
destroy  the  carriages,  and  to  take  possession  of  the  king  and 
queen. 

The  presence  of  the  deputies  imposed  silence  on  the 
shouts  and  howlings  of  the  people.  The  king  had  come 
into  the  Tuileries,  and  before  him  bowed  the  people  in  dumb 
respect.  They  quietly  allowed  that  this  their  king  should 
open  the  carriage  wherein  the  other  king,  the  king  by  God's 
grace,  Louis  XVI.,  sat  a  prisoner;  they  allowed  that  the 
king  by  the  grace  of  the  people,  the  National  Assembly, 
through  its  twenty  deputies,  should  render  liberty  to  Louis 
and  to  his  family,  and  lead  them  quietly  under  their  pro- 
tection into  the  Tuileries. 

But  from  this  day  the  Tuileries,  which  for  centuries 
had  been  the  palace  of  the  kings  of  France,  now  became  a 
prison  for  the  King  of  France  ! 

Louis  XVL  was  returned,  not  as  the  head,  but  as  the 
prisoner  of  the  state ;  from  the  moment  he  left  Paris,  the 
ermine  mantle  of  his  royalty  had  fallen  from  his  shoulders 
upon  the  shoulders  of  the  National  Assembly ;  King  Louis 
XVL  had  dethroned  himself. 

Amid  these  fatal  storms,  amid  these  ever-swelling  revO' 
lutionary  floods,  there  was  yet  an  hour  of  happiness  for 
Josephine.  Out  of  the  wild  waves  of  rebellion  was  to  rise, 
for  a  short  time,  an  island  of  bliss.  The  National  Assem- 
bly, whose  president,  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais,  had  once 
more,  in  the  course  of  the  sessions,  been  re-elected  by  general 
acclamation,  declared  itself  on  the  3d  of  September,  1791, 
dissolved,  and  its  members  vanished  to  make  room  for  the 
Legislative  Assembly,  which  organized  the  very  next  day. 

Alexandre  de  Beauharnais,  after  having  so  long  and  so 


THE  DAYS  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  127 

zealously  discharged  his  duties  as  a  citizen,  returned  to  his 
Josephine,  to  his  children ;  and,  weary  with  the  storms  and 
debates  of  the  last  months,  longed  for  a  quiet  little  place, 
away  from  the  turmoil  of  the  capital  and  from  the  attrition 
of  parties.  Josephine  acquiesced  gladly  in  the  wishes  of 
her  husband,  for  she  felt  her  innermost  being  shattered  by 
these  last  exciting  times,  and  perhaps  she  cherished  the 
secret  hope  that  her  husband,  once  removed  from  Paris, 
would  be  drawn  away  from  the  dangerous  arena  of  politics, 
into  which  his  enthusiasm  had  driven  him.  She  was,  and 
remained  at  heart,  a  good  and  true  royalist ;  and  as  Mira- 
beau,  dying  in  the  midst  of  revolution's  storms,  had  said  of 
himself,  that  "  he  took  to  his  grave  the  mourning-badge  for 
the  monarchy,"  *  so  also  Josephine's  heart,  since  the  flight 
to  Varennes,  wore  the  mourning-badge  for  the  unfortunate 
royal  family,  who  since  that  day  had  to  endure  so  much 
humiliation,  so  much  insult,  and  to  whom  Josephine  in  her 
loyal  sense  of  duty  consecrated  the  homage  of  a  devout 
subject. 

Josephine,  therefore,  gladly  consented  to  the  viscount's 
proposal  to  leave  Paris.  Accompanied  by  their  children  and 
by  the  governess  of  Hortense,  Madame  Lanoy,  the  viscount 
and  his  wife  went  to  a  property  belonging  to  one  of  the 
Beauharnais  family  near  Solange. 

Three  months  were  granted  to  Josephine  in  the  quietude, 
in  the  sweet  repose  of  a  country-life,  at  her  husband's  side, 
and  with  her  children,  to  gather  strength  from  the  anxieties 
and  griefs  which  she  had  suffered  in  Paris.  She  enjoyed 
these  days  as  one  enjoys  an  unexpected  blessing,  a  last  sun- 
shine before  winter's  near  approach,  with  thankful  heart  to 
God.  Full  of  cheerful  devotedness  to  her  husband,  to  her 
children,  her  lovely  countenance  was  radiant  with  joy  and 
love ;  she  was  ever  busy,  with  the  sunshine  of  her  smile,  to 

*  Mirabeau  died  on  the  6th  of  May,  1791. — See,  on  his  death,  "  Count 
Mirabeau,"  by  Theodore  Mundt,  vol.  iv. 


128  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

dissipate  the  shadows  from  her  husband's  brow,  and  to 
replace  the  impassioned  excitements,  the  honors  and  dis- 
tinctions of  his  Parisian  life,  by  the  pleasantness  and  joys 
of  home.  * 

But  Alexandre  de  Beauhamais  could  no  longer  find  satis- 
faction in  the  quiet,  harmless  joys  of  home;  he  even  re- 
proached himself  that  he  could  be  cheerful  and  satisfied 
whilst  France  resounded  with  cries  of  distress  and  com- 
plaints, whilst  France  was  torn  in  her  innermost  life  by  the 
disputes  and  conflicts  of  factions  which,  no  more  satisfied 
with  the  speeches  of  the  tribune,  filled  the  streets  with  blood 
and  wounds.  The  revolution  had  entered  into  a  new  phase, 
the  Legislative  Assembly  had  become  the  Constituent  As- 
sembly, which  despoiled  the  monarchy  of  the  last  appear- 
ance of  power  and  degraded  it  to  a  mere  insignificancy. 
The  Girondists,  those  ideal  fanatics,  who  wanted  to  regen- 
erate France  after  the  model  of  the  states  of  antiquity,  had 
seized  the  power  and  the  ministerial  portefeuilles.  The 
beautiful,  witty,  and  noble  Madame  Roland  ruled,  by  means 
of  her  husband,  the  Minister  Eoland,  and  was  striving  to 
realize  in  France  the  ideal  of  a  republic  after  the  pattern  of 
Greece  ;  she  was  the  very  soul  of  the  new  cabinet,  the  soul 
of  the  Girondists,  the  rulers  of  France ;  in  her  drawing- 
room,  during  the  evening,  the  new  laws  to  be  proposed  next 
day  in  the  Constituent  Assembly,  were  spoken  of,  and  the 
government  measures  discussed. 

For  a  moment  it  had  seemed  as  if  the  king,  through  his 
cabinet  of  Girondists,  would  once  more  be  reconciled  with 
his  people,  and  especially  with  the  Constituent  Assembly, 
as  if  the  nation  and  the  monarchy  would  once  more  endeav- 
or to  stand  one  by  the  other  in  harmony  and  peace.  Per- 
haps the  Girondists  had  believed  in  this  possibility,  and  had 
regarded  the  king's  assurances  that  he  would  adhere  to  the 
constitution,  and  that  he  would  go  hand  in  hand  with  his 
ministers,  and  accept  the  constitution  as  the  faithful  expres- 


THE  DAYS  OP  THE  REVOLUTION.  129 

sion  of  his  will.  But  when  they  discovered  that  Louis  was 
not  honorable  in  his  assurances ;  that  he  was  in  secret  cor- 
respondence with  the  enemies  of  France ;  that  in  a  letter  to 
his  brother-in-law,  the  Emperor  Leopold,  he  had  made  bitter 
complaints  about  the  constraint  to  which  he  was  subjected, 
then  the  Girondists  were  inflamed  with  animosity,  and  had 
recourse  to  counter-measures.  They  decreed  the  exile  of 
the  priests,  and  the  formation,  in  the  vicinity  of  Paris,  of  a 
camp  of  twenty  thousand  militia  from  all  the  departments 
of  France. 

Foreign  nations  looked  upon  this  decree  as  a  sign  of 
dawning  hostilities,  and  threatened  France  with  counter- 
measures.  France  responded  to  the  challenge  thus  thrown 
at  her,  and,  in  a  stormy  session  of  the  Assembly,  the  father- 
land was  declared  to  be  in  danger,  the  organization  of  an 
army  to  occupy  the  frontiers  was  decreed,  and  all  the  chil- 
dren of  the  fatherland  were  solemnly  called  to  her  defence. 

This  call  awoke  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  from  the 
dreamy  repose  to  which  he  had  abandoned  himself  during 
the  last  months.  His  country  called  him,  and  he  dared  not 
remain  deaf  to  this  call ;  it  was  his  duty  to  tear  himself 
from  the  quiet  peace  of  the  household,  from  the  arms  of  his 
•  wife  and  family,  and  place  himself  in  the  ranks  of  the  de- 
fenders of  his  country. 

Josephine  heard  this  resolution  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
but  she  could  not  keep  back  her  husband,  whose  counte- 
nance was  beaming  with  enthusiasm,  and  who  dreamed  of 
fame  and  victory.  She  accompanied  Alexandre  to  Paris, 
and  after  he  had  been  gladly  received  by  the  minister  of 
war,  and  appointed  to  the  Northern  army,  she  then  took 
from  him  a  last,  fond  farewell,  entreated  him  with  all  the 
eloquence  of  love  to  spare  himself,  and  not  wantonly  to  face 
danger,  but  to  preserve  his  life  for  his  wife  and  children. 

Deeply  moved  by  this  tender  solicitude  of  his  wife,  Alex- 
andre promised  to  hold  her  requests  as  sacred.     Once  more 


130  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

they  embraced  each  other  before  they  both  quitted  Paris  on 
diverging  roads. 

Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  went  to  Valenciennes,  where 
commanded  Marshal  Rochambeau,  to  whom  he  had  been 
commissioned  adjutant. 

Josephine  hastened  with  her  children  toward  Fontaine- 
bleau,  so  at  least  to  be  there  united  with  her  husband's 
father,  and  to  live  under  his  protection  until  the  return  of 
her  husband. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE   TENTH   OF  AUGUST,  AND  THE  LETTER  OF  NAPOLEON 
BONAPAETE. 

Since  the  death  of  Mirabeau,  the  last  defender  of  the 
monarchy,  since  the  failure  of  the  contemplated  flight,  roy- 
alty in  France  had  no  chance  of  existence  left ;  the  throne 
had  lost  every  prop  upon  which  it  could  find  support,  and  it 
sank  more  and  more  into  the  abyss  which  the  revolution 
had  dug  under  its  feet. 

Marie  Antoinette  was  conscious  of  it;  her  foreboding 
spirit  foresaw  the  coming  evil ;  her  proud  soul  nearly  broke 
under  the  humiliations  and  griefs  which  every  day  brought 
on.  She  had  hitherto  courageously  and  heroically  strug- 
gled against  adversity ;  she  had  concealed  tears  and  anguish, 
to  smile  at  that  people  which  hated  her  and  cursed  her, 
which  insulted  and  reviled  her  constantly.  But  a  day  was 
to  come  in  which  the  smile  would  forever  depart  from  her 
lip — in  which  Marie  Antoinette,  the  daughter  of  the  Caesars, 
so  deeply  humbled  and  trodden  down  in  the  dust,  would  no 
more  lift  up  her  head,  would  no  more  rise  from  the  terrible 
blow. 

This  day  was  the  10th  of  August,  in  the  year  1792.    The 


THE  TENTH  OF  AUGUST.  131 

terrible  storm,  which  so  long  had  filled  the  air  with  its  mut- 
terings,  and  had  shaken  the  throne  with  its  thunderings, 
was  on  this  day  with  terrific  power  to  be  let  loose  and  to 
dash  in  pieces  the  monarchy.  The  king  furnished  the  oc- 
casion for  this  eruption  by  dismissing  his  Girondist  min- 
istry, by  not  signing  the  decree  for  the  organization  of  a 
national  militia,  and  for  the  exile  of  the  priests. 

This  refusal  was  the  flash  which  broke  open  the  heavy 
clouds  that  so  long  had  hung  over  his  head — the  flash  which 
caused  the  tempest  to  burst  forth. 

Since  that  day  Paris  was  in  a  state  of  rebellion ;  fresh 
disturbances  took  place  every  day ;  and  finally,  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  10th  of  August,  bands  of  people  rushed  to  the 
palace  of  the  Tuileries  and  surrounded  it  with  wild  bowlings 
and  shouts.  A  portion  of  the  National  Guards  endeavored 
to  force  the  people  into  a  retreat ;  the  other  portion  united 
with  the  people  in  fierce  assaults  upon  the  Tuileries,  and  on 
its  defenders  the  Swiss.  These  were  massacred  by  the  people 
armed  with  pikes ;  with  jubilant  bowlings  the  armed  masses 
rushed  over  the  corpses  of  the  fallen  into  the  king's  palace. 

The  Procurator-General  Roderer  implored  the  king  to 
save  himself  with  his  family  by  taking  refuge  in  the  Na- 
tional Assembly,  for  there  alone  was  safety  for  him  and  the 
queen. 

Louis  hesitated;  but  Marie  Antoinette  felt  once  more 
the  pride  of  a  queen  awake  within  her ;  she  felt  it  was  nobler 
and  worthier  to  die  as  the  loyal  Swiss  had  done,  to  die  sword 
in  hand,  than  to  meet  pardon  and  disgrace,  than  to  bow  her 
head  under  the  yoke.  She  entreated  the  king  to  remain 
with  the  loyal  National  Guards  and  to  fight  with  his  soldiers 
and  die  in  the  palace  of  his  fathers.  She  spoke  to  the  suc- 
cessor of  Henry  IV.,  to  the  father  of  the  dauphin,  for  whom 
he  should  maintain  the  inheritance  received ;  she  appealed 
to  the  heart,  to  the  honor  of  Louis ;  she  spoke  with  flaming 
eyes,  and  with  the  eloquence  of  despair. 


132  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

But  Louis  listened  not  to  her,  but  to  the  solicitations  of 
Roderer,  who  told  him  that  he  had  but  five  minutes  to  save 
himself,  the  queen,  and  his  children ;  that  in  five  minutes 
more  all  would  be  lost. 

"  It  cannot  be  helped,"  muttered  the  king ;  and  then 
with  louder  voice  he  continued  :  "  It  is  my  will  that  we  be 
conducted  into  the  Legislative  Assembly ;  I  command  it ! " 

A  shriek  of  terror  broke  forth  from  the  breast  of  the 
queen ;  her  proud  heart  resisted  once  more  her  husband's 
weakness,  who,  for  his  own  and  for  her  misfortune,  was  not 
made  of  the  stuff  which  moulds  kings. 

"  Sire,"  cried  she,  angrily  and  excited — "  sire,  you  must 
first  command  that  I  be  nailed  to  the  walls  of  this  palace  1 
I  remain  here.     I  stir  not  from  this  spot ! "  * 

But  Madame  Elizabeth,  the  Princesses  de  Lamballe  and 
de  Tarent,  begged  her  with  tears  to  consent ;  the  good  king 
fixed  on  her  sad,  weeping  eyes,  and  Roderer  entreated  her 
not  to  abandon,  by  her  delays,  to  the  approaching  execu- 
tioners, her  husband,  her  children,  and  herself. 

Marie  Antoinette  offered  to  her  husband  her  last  and 
her  greatest  sacrifice ;  she  bowed  her  proud  head  to  his  will ; 
she  consented  to  accompany  the  king  with  her  children  into 
the  Assembly. 

She  took  the  dauphin  in  her  arms,  Madame  Therese  by 
the  hand,  and,  at  the  side  of  the  king,  followed  by  the  Prin- 
cesses Lamballe  and  Tarent,  walked  out  of  the  palace  of  the 
Tuileries  to  go  to  the  Convent  des  Feuillants,  where  the 
Legislative  Assembly  held  its  sessions. 

What  a  martyrdom  in  this  short  distance  from  the  Tuil- 
eries to  the  Feuillants — what  dishonor  and  fears  were  gath- 
ered on  this  path  !  Between  the  deep  ranks  of  Swiss  gren- 
adiers and  National  Guards  was  this  path ;  the  queen  stares 
fixedly  on  the  ground,  and  she  does  not  see  that  her  thin 

•  The  very  words  of  the  qneen. — See  "  M^moires  Secretes  et  Uni- 
verselles,"  par  Lafont  d'Aussone. 


THE  TENTH  OF  AUGUST.  .    I33 

ailk  shoes  will  be  torn  by  the  hard,  fallen  leaves  of  the  trees 
under  which  they  are  moving. 

But  the  king  sees  every  thing,  notices  every  thing.  "  How 
many  leaves,"  said  he,  gazing  forward — "  they  fall  early  this 
year ! " 

Now  at  the  foot  of  the  terrace  the  advance  of  the  royal 
family  is  stopped  by  a  multitude  of  people,  who,  with  wild 
bowlings,  swing  their  pikes  and  clubs,  and  in  their  madness 
shout :  "  No,  they  must  not  enter  the  Assembly  ! — they  are 
the  cause  of  all  our  misery  !  Let  us  put  an  end  to  all  this ! 
Down  with  them  ! — down  ! " 

The  queen  pays  no  attention  to  these  shouts ;  she  sees 
not  that  the  National  Guards  are  clearing  a  way  by  force ; 
she  walks  forward  with  uplifted  head,  with  a  countenance 
petrified  like  that  of  Medusa  at  the  sight  of  evil. 

But  as  a  man  approaches  her,  seizes  the  dauphin  and 
takes  him  in  his  arms,  the  transfixed  queen  is  aroused,  and, 
with  all  the  anguish  of  a  mother's  despair,  grapples  the 
arm  of  the  man  who  wants  to  rob  her  of  all  she  now  possess? 
es,  her  child ! 

"  Be  not  afraid,"  whispered  the  man,  "  I  will  do  him  no 
harm,  I  am  but  going  to  carry  him  ; "  and  Marie  Antoinette, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  child,  moves  forward.  At  their  en- 
trance into  the  hall  of  the  Assembly  the  man  gives  her  back 
the  dauphin,  and  she  makes  him  sit  down  near  her  on  the 
seats  of  the  ministers. 

A  rough  voice  issues  from  the  midst  of  the  Assembly : 
*'  The  dauphin  belongs  to  the  nation ;  place  him  at  the 
side  of  the  president.  The  Austrian  is  not  worthy  of  our 
confidence ! " 

They  tear  away  from  the  queen  the  weeping  child,  who 
clings  to  her,  and  who  is  carried  to  the  president,  at  whose 
left  hand  the  king  has  seated  himself. 

Again  a  voice  is  heard  reminding  the  Assembly  of  the  law 
which  forbids  them  to  deliberate  in  the  presence  of  the  king. 


184.  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

The  royal  family  must  leave  the  lower  portion  of  the 
hall,  and  are  led  into  a  small  room,  with  iron  trellis-work, 
behind  the  president's  chair. 

The  royal  family,  with  their  attendants,  pressed  into  the 
small  space  of  this  room,  can  here  at  least,  away  from  the 
gaze  of  their  enemies,  hide  their  dishonored  heads ;  at  least 
no  one  sees  the  nervousness  of  despair  which  now  and  then 
agitates  the  tall  figure  of  the  queen,  the  tears  trembling  on 
her  eyelids  when  she  looks  to  the  poor  little  dauphin,  whose 
blond  curly  head  lies  in  her  bosom,  asleep  from  exhaustion, 
hunger,  and  sorrow. 

No  one  sees  the  king  and  the  queen,  but  they  see  and  hear 
every  thing.  They  hear  from  without  the  bowlings  of  the 
mob,  the  cannon's  roar,  the  reports  of  the  rifles,  telling  them 
that  a  bloody  fratricidal  strife,  a  terrible  civil  war,  is  raging. 
They  hear  there  in  the  hall,  a  few  steps  from  them,  the  fa- 
natical harangues  of  the  deputies,  whose  words,  full  of  blood, 
are  like  the  hands  of  the  murdering  Marseillais  there  with- 
out. Marie  Antoinette  hears  Vergniaud's  motion,  "  to  divest 
the  king  at  once  of  his  power  and  rank,"  and  she  hears  the 
acclamations  of  the  Assembly  in  favor  of  the  motion.  She 
hears  the  Assembly  by  their  own  power  reinvesting  the 
Girondist  ministers,  dismissed  by  the  king,  with  their  dig- 
nity and  power  !  She  hears  the  Assembly  decide  "  to  invite 
the  French  people  to  form  a  national  compact." 

She  hears  all  this,  and  the  cold  perspiration  of  anguish 
and  horror  covers  her  brow  while  she  has  yet  strength 
enough  to  force  back  her  tears  into  her  heart.  She  asks 
for  a  handkerchief  to  wipe  her  forehead.  Not  one  of  the 
attendants  around  can  furnish  a  kerchief  which  is  not 
stained  with  the  blood  of  the  victims  fallen  at  their  side  in 
protecting  the  royal  family  with  their  lives.* 

At  last,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  is  this  painful 

*  "  M^moires  inedites  du  Comte  de  la  Rochefoucauld." 


THE  TENTH  OF  AUGUST.  135 

martyrdom  ended,  and  the  royal  family  are  led  into  the 
upper  rooms  of  the  convent,  where  hastily  and  penuriously 
enough  a  few  chambers  had  been  furnished. 

The  bowlings  of  the  crowd  ascend  to  their  windows. 
Under  'those  of  the  queen's  room  groups  of  infuriated 
women  sing  the  song  whose  horrible  burden  is,  '■'■Madame 
Veto  avait  promis  de  faire  egorger  tout  Parish  Between 
the  sentences  other  voices  shout  and  howl :  "  The  queen  is 
the  cause  of  our  misery  !  Kill  her  !  kill  the  queen,  the  mur- 
deress of  France !  Kill  Madame  Veto !  Throw  us  her  head ! " 

Three  days  after,  the  royal  family  are  led  to  the  Temple. 
The  rulers  of  the  state  are  now  state  prisoners.  But  the 
queen  had  already  found  the  peace  which  misfortune  gen- 
erally brings  to  strong  souls;  and  as  she  walked  to  the 
Temple,  and  saw  her  foot  protruding  from  the  extremity  of 
her  shoe,  she  said  with  an  affecting  smile,  "  Who  could  have 
believed  that  one  day  the  Queen  of  France  should  be  in 
want  of  shoes ! " 

With  the  10th  of  August  began  the  last  act  of  the  great 
tragedy  of  the  revolution.  Its  second  scene  had  its  repre- 
sentation in  the  first  days  of  September,  in  those  days  of 
blood  and  tears,  in  which  infuriated  bands  of  the  people 
stormed  the  prisons  to  murder  the  captive  priests,  aristo- 
crats, and  royalists. 

Under  the  guillotine  fell  during  this  month  the  head  of 
the  queen's  friend,  the  Princess  de  Lamballe,  who  was  fol- 
lowed in  crowds  by  the  king's  faithful  adherents,  sealing 
their  loyalty  and  their  love  with  their  death. 

This  loyalty  and  love  for  the  royal  family  was  during 
this  month  branded  as  an  unpardonable  9rime,  for  the  Na- 
tional Convention,  which  on  the  21st  of  September  had 
taken  the  place  of  the  Constituent  Assembly,  on  the  25th 
declared  France  to  be  a  republic,  and  the  royalists  became 
thereby  criminals,  who  had  sinned  in  the  respect  and  love 

which  they  owed  to  the  "  republic  one  and  indivisible." 
in 


136  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

The  new  republic  of  France  celebrated  her  saturnalia  in 
the  following  months,  and  unfurled  her  blood-stained  stand- 
ard over  the  nation.  She  was  not  satisfied  with  having 
brought  to  the  guillotine  more  than  ten  thousand  aristocrats 
and  royalists,  to  terrify  the  faithful  adherents  and  servants 
of  the  throne.  She  required,  moreover,  the  death  of  those 
for  whose  sake  so  many  thousands  had  perished — the  death 
of  the  king  and  of  the  queen. 

On  the  5th  of  December  began  the  trial  of  Louis  Capet, 
ex-King  of  France,  now  accused  by  the  Convention.  The 
pages  of  history  have  illustrated  this  stupendous  and  trag- 
ical event  in  all  its  shapes  and  colors.  Each  party  has 
preyed  upon  it,  the  poets  have  sung  it,  and  made  it  the 
central  point  of  tragedy  and  romance;  but  none  have 
painted  it  in  so  telling,  in  so  terse,  masterly  traits,  none  have 
so  fully  comprehended  and  expressed  the  already  stupendous 
event,  as  Lieutenant  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  the  future  Em- 
peror of  France. 

He  happened  to  be  in  Paris  during  these  days  of  terror. 
He  had,  with  all  the  energies  of  his  soul,  given  himself  up 
to  the  new  state  of  things,  and  he  belonged  to  the  most  up- 
right and  zealous  faction  of  the  republicans.  He  acknowl- 
edged himself  won  over  to  their  ideas,  he  participated  in  their 
celebrations,  he  was  the  friend  of  many  of  the  most  influen- 
tial and  conspicuous  members  of  the  Convention,  and  he 
was  rarely  absent  from  their  meetings  ;  but  in  the  presence 
of  the  awful  catastrophe  of  the  king's  accusation  and  execu- 
tion his  proud  and  daring  soul  shrank  back,  and,  full  of 
misgivings,  shuddered  within  itself.  The  young,  enthusi- 
astic republican,  to  his  own  great  horror,  found  in  the 
depths  of  his  soul  a  holy  respect  and  awe  in  the  presence  of 
this  royalty  which  he  so  often  in  words  had  despised,  and 
the  fall  of  the  king,  this  enemy  of  the  republic,  moved  his 
heart  as  a  calamity  which  had  fallen  upon  him  and  upon  all 
France.    He  himself  gave  to  one  of  his  friends  in  Ajaccio  a 


THE  TENTH  OP  AUGUST.  137 

*    - 
Tery  correct  description  of  these  days.    After  narrating  the 
events  of  the  first  days  of  the  trial  of  the  king,  he  continues  : 

"  The  day  after  I  hea-rd  that  the  advocate  Target  had  re- 
fused to  undertake  the  king's  defence,  to  which  he  was 
privileged  by  virtue  of  his  oflBce.  This  is  what  may  be 
called,  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  word,  to  erase  one's  name 
from  history.  What  grounds  had  he  for  such  a  low  cun- 
ning ?  '  His  life  I  will  not  save,  and  mine  I  dare  not  risk ! ' 
Malherbes,  Tronchet,  Deseze,  loyal  and  devoted  subjects,  to 
imitate  them  in  their  zeal  would  be  impossible  for  me ;  but 
were  I  a  prince  I  would  have  them  sit  at  my  right  hand — 
united  together  in  the  most  strenuous  efforts  to  defend  the 
successor  of  St.  Louis.  If  they  survive  this  deed  of  sublime 
faithfulness,  never  can  I  pass  by  them  without  uncovering 
my  head. 

"  Business  detained  me  unavoidably  in  Versailles.  Only 
on  the  16th  of  January  did  I  return  to  Paris,  and  conse- 
quently I  had  lost  three  or  four  scenes  of  this  tragedy  of 
ambition.  But  on  the  18th  of  January  I  went  to  the  Na- 
tional Convention.  Ah,  my  friend,  it  is  true,  and  the  most 
infuriated  republicans  avow  it  also,  a  prince  is  but  an  ordi- 
nary man  !  His  head  will  as  surely  fall  as  that  of  another 
man,  but  whosoever  decrees  his  death  trembles  at  his  own 
madness,  and  were  he  not  urged  by  secret  motives,  his  vote 
would  die  on  his  lips  ere  it  was  uttered.  I  gazed  with  much 
curiosity  at  the  fearless  mortals  who  were  about  deciding 
the  fate  of  their  king.  I  watched  their  looks,  I  searched 
into  their  hearts.  The  exceeding  weightiness  of  the  occa- 
sion had  exalted  them,  intoxicated  them,  but  within  them- 
selves they  were  full  of  fear  in  the  presence  of  the  grandeur 
of  their  victim. 

"  Had  they  dared  retreat,  the  prince  had  been  saved.  To 
his  misfortune,  they  had  argued  within  themselves,  '  If  his 
head  falls  not  to-day,  then  we  must  soon  give  ours  to  the 
executioner's  stroke.' 


188  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

"This  was  the  prominent  thought  which  controlled 
their  vote.  No  pen  can  adequately  portray  the  feelings  of 
the  spectators  in  the  galleries.  Silent,  horrified,  breathless, 
they  gazed  now  on  the  accused,  tiow  on  the  defenders,  now 
on  the  judges. 

"  The  vote  of  Orleans  sounded  forth — '  Death ! '  An 
electric  shock  could  not  have  produced  deeper  impression. 
The  whole  assembly,  seized  with  an  involuntary  terror,  rose. 
The  hall  was  filled  with  the  murmurs  of  conflicting  emo- 
tions. 

"  Only  one  man  remained  seated,  immovable  as  a  rock, 
and  that  one  was  myself. 

"  I  ventured  to  reflect  on  the  cause  of  such  indifference 
(as  that  of  Orleans)  and  I  found  that  cause  grounded  on 
ambition,  but  this  cannot  justify  the  conduct  of  Orleans.  It 
is  only  thus  that  I  could  account  for  his  action  :  he  seeks  a 
throne,  though  without  any  right  to  it,  and  a  throne  can- 
not be  won  if  the  pretender  renounces  all  claims  to  public 
respect  and  virtue. 

*'  I  will  be  brief,  for  to  unfold  a  mournful  story  is  not 
my  business.  The  king  was  sentenced  to  death ;  and  if  the 
21st  day  of  January  does  not  inspire  hatred  for  the  name 
of  France,  a  glorious  name  at  least  will  have  been  added  to 
the  roll-call  of  her  martyrs. 

"  What  a  city  was  Paris  on  that  day !  The  population 
seemed  to  be  in  a  state  of  bewilderment ;  all  seemed  to  ex- 
change but  gloomy  looks,  and  one  man  hurried  on  to  meet 
another  without  uttering  a  word.  The  streets  were  deserted ; 
houses  and  palaces  were  like  graves.  The  very  air  seemed 
to  mirror  the  executioner.  In  a  word,  the  successor  of  St. 
Louis  was  led  to  the  scaffold  through  the  ranks  of  mourning 
automatons,  that  a  short  time  before  were  his  subjects. 

"  If  any  one  is  at  your  side,  my  friend,  when  you  read 
this,  conceal  the  following  lines'  from  him,  even  were  he 
your  father.    It  is  a  stain  on  the  stuff  of  which  my  character 


THE  TENTH  OF  AUGUST.  139 

is  made — that  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  for  the  sake  of  a  human 
being's  destruction,  should  have  been  deeply  moved  and 
compelled  to  retire  to  his  bed,  is  a  thing  barely  credible, 
though  it  is  true,  and  I  cannot  confess  it  without  being 
ashamed  of  myseK. 

"  O'x  the  night  before  the  21st  of  January  I  could  not 
close  m/  ayes,  and  yet  I  could  not  explain  to  myself  the 
cause  of  this  unusual  excitement.  I  rose  up  early  and  ran 
everywhere  to  and  fro  where  crowds  had  gathered.  I  won- 
dered at,  or  much  more  I  despised,  the  weakness  of  those 
forty  thousand  National  Guards,  of  which  the  nineteenth 
part  were  practically  the  assistants  of  the  executioner.  At 
the  gate  of  St.  Denis  I  met  Santerre ;  a  numerous  staff 
followed  him.  I  could  have  cut  off  his  ears.  I  spat  down 
before  him — it  was  all  I  could  do.  In  my  opinion,  the  Duke 
d'Orleans  would  have  filled  his  place  better.  He  had  set  his 
eyes  on  a  crown,  and,  as  every  one  knows,  such  a  motive 
overcomes  much  hesitancy. 

"  Following  the  Boulevards,  I  came  to  the  Place  de  la 
Revolution.  The  guillotine,  a  new  invention,  I  had  not  yet 
seen.  A  cold  perspiration  ran  over  me.  Near  me  stood  a 
stranger,  who  attributed  my  uneasiness  and  pallor  to  some 
special  interest  on  my  part  for  the  king's  fate.  '  Do  not  be 
alarmed,'  said  he, '  he  is  not  going  to  die ;  the  Convention 
is  only  glad  to  exhibit  its  power,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  scaf- 
fold the  king  will  find  his  letters  of  pardon.'  *  In  this  case,' 
said  I, '  the  members  of  the  Convention  are  not  far  from 
their  own  ruin,  and  could  a  guilty  man  have  more  deserved 
his  fate  than  they?  Whoever  attacks  a  lion,  and  desires 
not  to  be  destroyed  by  it,  must  not  wound  but  kill  on  the 
spot.' 

"  A  hollow,  confused  noise  was  heard.  It  was  the  royal 
victim.  I  pushed  forward,  making  way  with  my  elbows, 
and  being  pushed  myself.  All  my  efforts  to  come  closer 
were  fruitless.     Suddenly  the  noise  of  drums  broke  upon 


140  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

the  gloomy  silence  of  the  crowd.  '  This  is  the  signal  for  his 
freedom,'  said  the  stranger.  '  It  will  fall  back  on  the  head 
of  his  murderers,'  answered  I ;  '  half  a  crime  in  a  case  like 
this  is  but  weakness.' 

"  A  moment's  stillness  followed.  Something  heavy  fell 
on  the  scaffold.    This  sound  went  through  my  heart. 

"I  inquired  of  a  gendarme  the  cause  of  this  sound. 

*  The  axe  has  fallen,'  said  he.    *  The  king  is  not  saved  then  ?  * 

*  He  is  dead.'    '  He  is  dead ! ' 

"  For  ten  times  at  least  I  repeated  the  words  ♦  He  is 
dead.' 

"  For  a  few  moments  I  remained  unconscious.  Without 
knowing  by  whom,  I  was  carried  along  by  a  crowd,  and 
found  myself  on  the  Quai  des  TJdatines,  but  could  say 
nothing,  except '  He  is  dead.' 

"  Entirely  bewildered,  I  went  home,  but  a  good  hour 
elapsed  before  I  fully  recovered  my  senses."  * 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   EXECUTION   OF  THE   QUEEN". 

The  king's  execution  was  the  signal-fire  which  announced 
to  the  horrified  world  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  terror, 
and  told  Europe  that  in  France  the  throne  had  been  torn 
down,  and  in  its  stead  the  guillotine  erected.  Yes,  the  guil- 
lotine alone  now  ruled  over  France ;  the  days  of  moderation, 
of  the  Girondists,  had  passed  away ;  the  terrorists,  named  also 
men  of  the  Mountain,  on  account  of  the  high  seats  they 
occupied  in  the  Convention,  had  seized  the  reins  of  power, 
and  now  controlled  the  course  of  events. 

Everywhere,  in  every  province,  in  every  city,  the  blood- 

•  See  "  Edinburgh  Quarterly  Review,"  1880. 


THE  EXECUTION  OF  THE  QUEEN.  141 

red  standard  of  the  revolution  was  lifted  up ;  might  had  be- 
come law ;  death  was  the  rule,  and  in  lieu  of  the  boasted 
liberty  of  conscience  was  tyranny.  Who  dared  think  other- 
wise than  the  terrorists,  who  presumed  to  doubt  the  measures 
of  the  Convention,  was  a  criminal  who,  in  the  name  of  the 
one  and  indivisible  republic,  was  to  be  punished  with  death ; 
whose  head  must  fall,  for  he  had  cherished  thoughts  which 
agreed  not  with  the  schemes  of  the  revolutionists. 

How  in  these  days  of  agitation  and  anguish  Josephine 
rejoiced  at  her  good  fortune,  that  she  had  not  to  tremble  for 
her  husband's  life ;  that  she  was  away  from  the  crater  of  the 
revolution  which  raged  in  Paris,  and  daily  claimed  so  many 
victims ! 

Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  was  still  with  the  army.  He 
had  risen  from  rank  to  rank  ;  and  when,  in  May,  General 
Custine  was  deposed  by  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety 
from  the  command  of  the  Northern  array,  Alexandre  de 
Beauharnais,  who  was  then  chief  of  the  general's  staff  of  this 
army,  was  appointed  in  his  place  as  commanding  general 
of  the  Army  of  the  Rhine  ;  and  the  important  work  now  to 
be  achieved  was  to  debar  the  besieging  Prussians  and  Aus- 
trians  from  recapturing  Mayence.  The  Committee  of  Pub- 
lic Safety  had  dismissed  General  Custine  from  his  post,  be- 
cause he  had  not  pressed  on  with  suflBcient  speed  to  the 
rescue  of  Mayence,  according  to  the  judgment  of  these  new 
rulers  of  France,  who  wanted  from  Paris  to  decide  all  mili- 
tary matters,  and  who  demanded  victories  whilst  too  often 
refusing  the  means  necessary  for  victory. 

General  de  Beauharnais  was  to  turn  to  good  what  Gen- 
eral Custine,  according  to  the  opinion  of  these  gentlemen  of 
the  Convention,  had  failed  to  do.  This  was  an  important 
and  highly  significant  order,  and  to  leave  it  unfulfilled  was 
to  excite  the  anger  of  the  Committee  of  Safety ;  it  was  sim- 
ply to  deserve  death. 

General  de  Beauharnais  knew  this  well,  but  he  shrank 


142  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

not  back  from  the  weighty  and  dangerous  situation  in 
which  he  was  placed.  To  his  country  belonged  his  life, 
all  his  energies;  and  it  was  to  him  of  equal  importance 
whether  his  head  fell  on  the  battle-field  or  on  the  scaffold  ; 
in  either  case  it  would  fall  for  his  country ;  he  would  do  hia 
duty,  and  his  country  might  be  satisfied  with  him. 

In  this  enthusiastic  love  for  country,  De  Beauharnais 
accepted  cheerfully  the  offered  command  of  the  Army  of 
the  Rhine  as  general-in-chief,  and  he  prepared  himself  to 
march  to  the  rescue  of  besieged  Mayence. 

Whilst  General  de  Beauharnais  was  on  the  French  fron- 
tier, Josephine  trembled  with  anxious  misgivings.  The 
new  dignity  of  her  husband  filled  her  with  fear,  for  she 
multiplied  the  dangers  which  surrounded  him  and  his  fam- 
ily, for  now  the  eyes  of  the  terrorists  were  fixed  on  him. 
An  unfortunate  move,  an  unsuccessful  war  operation,  could 
excite  the  wrath  of  these  men  of  power,  and  send  Beau- 
harnais to  the  guillotine.  It  was  well  known  that  he  be- 
longed not  to  the  Mountain  party,  but  to  the  moderate 
republicans,  to  the  Girondists ;  and  as  the  Girondists  were 
now  incarcerated,  as  the  Committee  of  Safety  had  brought 
accusations  against  them,  and  declared  them  guilty  of  trea- 
son toward  France,  it  was  also  easy,  if  it  pleased  the  terror- 
ists, to  find  a  flaw  in  the  character  of  General  Beauharnais, 
and  to  bring  accusations  against  him  as  had  been  done 
against  the  Girondists. 

Such  were  Josephine's  fears,  which  made  her  tremble 
for  her  husband,  for  her  children.  She  wished  at  least  to 
secure  these  from  the  impending  danger,  and  to  save  and 
shield  them  from  the  guillotine.  Her  friend,  the  Princess 
von  Hohenzollern,  was  on  the  eve  of  leaving  for  England 
with  her  brother  the  Prince  von  Salm,  and  Josephine  was 
anxious  to  seize  this  opportunity  to  save  her  children.  She 
brought  Eugene  and  Hortense  to  the  princess,  who  was 
now  waiting  in  St.  Martin,  in  the  vicinity  of  St.  Pol,  in  th* 


THE  EXECUTION  OP  THE  QUEEN.  143 

county  of  Artois,  expecting  a  favorable  moment  for  depart- 
ure ;  for  already  was  the  emigration  watched,  already  it  was 
considered  a  crime  to  leave  France.  With  bitter  tears  of 
grief,  and  yet  glad  to  know  her  children  safe,  Josephine 
bade  farewell  to  her  little  ones,  and  then  returned  to  Paris, 
so  as  to  excite  no  suspicion  through  her  absence.  But  no 
sooner  had  General  Beauharnais  heard  of  Josephine's  plan 
to  send  her  children  from  the  country,  than  in  utmost 
speed  he  dispatched  to  his  wife  a  courier  bearing  a  letter 
in  which  he  decidedly  opposed  the  departure  of  the  chil- 
dren, for  by  this  emigration  his  own  position  would  be  im- 
perilled and  his  character  made  suspicious. 

Josephine  sighed,  and,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  submitted 
to  her  husband's  will ;  she  sent  a  faithful  messenger  to  St. 
Martin  to  bring  back  Eugene  and  Hortense.  But  the  Prin- 
cess von  HohenzoUern  would  not  trust  the  children  to  any 
one  ;  she  had  sworn  to  her  friend  Josephine  to  watch  over 
them,  never  to  let  them  go  out  of  her  sight,  and  she  wished 
to  keep  her  oath  until  such  time  as  she  could  restore  the 
children  to  their  mother.  She  therefore  returned  herself 
to  Paris,  to  bring  back  Eugene  and  Hortense  to  Josephine ; 
and  this  journey,  so  short  and  so  insignificant  in  itself,  was 
nevertheless  the  occasion  that  the  Princess  von  Hohenzol- 
lem  remained  in  France ;  that  her  brother,  the  Prince  von 
Salm,  should  mount  the  scaffold !  The  favorable  moment 
for  emigration  was  lost  through  this  delay ;  the  journey  to 
Paris  had  attracted  the  eyes  of  the  authorities  to  the  doings 
of  the  princess  and  of  her  brother,  the  contemplated  jour- 
ney to  England  was  discovered,  and  the  incarceration  of  the 
Prince  von  Salm  and  of  his  sister  was  the  natural  conse- 
quence. A  few  months  after,  the  prince  paid  with  his  life 
the  contemplated  attempt  to  migrate  ;  his  sister,  the  Prin- 
cess von  HohenzoUern,  was  saved  from  the  guillotine 
through  accident. 

Meanwhile,  Josephine  had  at  least  her  children  safely 


144  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

returned,  and,  in  the  quietude  and  solitude  of  Fontainebleau, 
she  awaited  with  beating  heart  the  future  developments  of 
events ;  she  saw  increase  every  day  the  dangers  which 
threatened  her,  her  family,  and,  above  all  things,  her  hus- 
band. 

Mayence  was  still  besieged  by  the  Austrian  and  Prussian 
forces.  General  Beauharnais  had  not  completed  the  organi- 
zation of  his  army  so  as  to  press  onward  to  the  rescue  of  the 
besieged,  whose  perils  increased  every  day.  But  whilst,  in 
unwearied  activity,  he  urged  on  the  preliminary  operations, 
a  courier  arrived,  who  brought  to  the  general  his  appoint- 
ment to  the  office  of  minister  of  war,  and  required  his  im- 
mediate presence  in  Paris,  there  to  assume  his  new  dignity. 

Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  had  the  courage  to  answer 
with  a  declination  the  office.  He  entreated  the  Convention 
to  make  another  choice,  for  he  considered  himself  more 
competent  to  serve  his  country  against  the  coalition  of  ty- 
rants, among  his  companions-in-arms,  than  to  be  minister 
of  war  amid  revolution's  storms. 

The  Convention  pardoned  his  refusal  for  the  sake  of  the 
patriotic  sentiments  which  he  had  expressed.  But  this  re- 
fusal was  to  have,  not  only  for  the  general,  but  also  for  all 
the  aristocracy  of  France,  the  most  fatal  results.  Some  of 
the  most  fanatical  members  of  the  Mountain  party  ever 
considered  as  an  audacious  resistance  to  the  commands  of 
the  Convention  this  refusal  of  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais,  to 
accept  the  office  which  the  highest  powers  of  the  land  of- 
fered him. 

It  was  a  nobleman,  an  aristocrat,  who  had  dared  oppose 
the  democratic  Convention,  and  hence  the  welcome  pretext 
was  found  to  begin  the  long-wished-for  conflict  against  the 
aristocrats.  One  of  the  deputies  of  the  Mountain  made  the 
motion  to  remove  from  all  public  offices,  from  the  army, 
from  the  cabinet,  all  noblemen.  Another  accused  General 
de  Beauharnais,  as  well  as  all  officers  from  amongst  the  no- 


THE  EXECUTION   OF  THE  QUEEN.  145 

bility,  of  moderate  tendencies,  and  requested  at  the  same 
time  that  a  list  of  all  officers  from  the  nobility,  and  now  in 
the  army,  should  be  laid  before  the  Convention. 

But  on  this  very  day  a  letter  from  the  general  reached 
the  Convention.  In  this  letter  he  expressed  the  hope  of  a 
speedy  rescue  of  Mayence ;  he  announced  that  he  had  com- 
pleted the  organization  of  his  forces  and  all  his  preparations, 
and  that  soon  from  the  camps  of  Vicembourg  and  Lauter- 
burg  he  would  advance  against  Mayence. 

This  letter  was  received  by  the  Convention  with  loud 
acclamations,  and  so  took  possession  of  all  minds  that  they 
passed  over  the  motion  of  hostility  against  the  nobility,  to 
the  order  of  the  day. 

Had  General  de  Beauharnais  accomplished  his  purpose 
— had  he  succeeded  in  relieving  the  garrison  besieged  in 
Mayence,  now  sorely  pressed,  and  in  delivering  them,  this 
horrible  decree  which  caused  so  much  blood  to  flow,  this 
decree  against  the  nobility,  would  never  have  appeared,  and 
France  would  have  been  spared  many  scenes  of  cruelty  and 
horror. 

Beauharnais  hoped  still  to  effect  the  rescue.  Trusty 
messengers  from  Mayence  had  brought  him  the  news  that 
the  garrison  held  on  courageously  and  bravely,  and  that 
they  could  hold  their  ground  a  few  days  longer.  Dispatch 
was  therefore  necessary ;  and  if  in  a  few  days  they  could  be 
re-enforced,  then  they  would  be  saved,  provided  the  other 
generals  should  advance  with  their  troops  in  time  to  attack 
the  Austrian  and  Prussian  forces  lying  round  about  May- 
ence. The  French  had  already  succeeded  in  obtaining  some 
advantages  over  the  enemy ;  and  General  de  Beauharnais 
could  triumphantly  announce  to  the  Convention  that,  on  the 
22d  of  July,  a  warm  encounter  with  the  Prussians  had  taken 
place  at  St.  Anna's  chapel,  and  that  he  had  forced  the  Prus- 
aians  to  a  retreat  with  considerable  loss. 

The  Convention  received  this  news  with  jubilant  shouts^ 


146  I'HE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

and  already  trusted  in  the  sure  triumph  of  the  French  ar- 
mies against  the  united  forces  of  Prussia  and  Austria.  If  in 
these  days  of  joyous  excitement  some  one  had  dared  renew 
the  motion  to  dismiss  Beauharnais  from  his  command  be- 
cause he  was  a  nobleman,  the  mover  .would  undoubtedly 
have  been  considered  an  enemy  of  his  country. 

How  much  attention  in  these  happy  days  was  paid  to 
the  general's  wife — how  busy  were  even  the  most  fanatical 
republicans,  the  dreaded  ones  of  the  Mountain,  to  flatter 
her,  to  give  expression  to  their  enthusiastic  praises  of  the 
general  who  was  preparing  for  the  arms  of  the  republic  so 
glorious  a  triumph ! 

Josephine  now  came  every  day  to  be  present  in  the  gal- 
lery at  the  sessions  of  the  Convention,  and  her  gracious 
countenance  radiated  a  cheerful  smile  when  the  minister 
of  war  communicated  to  the  Assembly  the  newly-arrived 
dispatches  which  announced  fresh  advantages  or  closer 
approaches  of  General  Beauharnais.  By  degrees  a  new 
confidence  filled  the  heart  of  Josephine,  and  the  gloomy 
forebodings,  which  so  long  had  tormented  her,  began  to 
fade  away. 

In  the  session  of  the  28th  of  July,  Barrere,  with  a  grave, 
solemn  countenance,  mounted  the  tribune  and  with  a  loud, 
sad  voice  announced  to  the  Convention,  in  the  name  of  the 
Committee  of  Safety,  that  a  courier  had  just  arrived  bring- 
ing the  news  that,  on  the  23d  of  July,  Mayence,  in  virtue 
of  an  unjust  capitulation,  had  fallen. 

A  loud,  piercing  shriek,  which  issued  from  the  gallery, 
broke  the  silence  with  which  the  Assembly  had  received 
this  news.  It  was  Josephine  who  had  uttered  this  cry — 
Josephine  who  was  carried  away  fainting  from  the  hall. 
She  awoke  from  her  long  swoon  only  to  shed  a  torrent  of 
tears,  to  press  her  children  to  her  heart,  as  if  desirous  to 
screen  them  from  the  perils  of  death,  which  now,  said  her 
own  forebodings,  were  pressing  on  from  all  sides. 


THE  EXECUTION  OP  THE  QUEEN.  147 

Josephine  was  not  deceived  :  this  calamitous  news,  all  at 
once,  changed  the  whole  aspect  of  alBfairs,  gave  to  the  Con- 
vention and  to  the  republic  another  attitude,  and  threw  its 
dark  shadows  over  the  unfortunate  general  who  had  under- 
taken to  save  Mayence,  and  had  not  been  able  to  fulfil  his 
word. 

Surely  this  was  not  his  fault,  for  General  Dubayet  had 
capitulated  before  it  had  been  possible  for  Beauharnais  to 
accomplish  the  rescue.  No  one  therefore  ventured  to  accuse 
him,  but  undeserved  misfortune  always  remains  a  misfortune 
in  the  eyes  of  those  who  had  counted  upon  success ;  and  the 
Convention  could  never  forgive  the  generals  from  whom 
they  had  expected  so  much,  and  who  had  not  met  these  ex- 
pectations. 

These  generals  had  all  been  men  of  the  aristocracy.  As 
there  was  no  reason  to  accuse  them  on  account  of  their  un- 
successful military  operations,  it  was  necessary  to  attack 
them  with  other  weapons,  and  seek  a  spot  where  they  could 
be  wounded.  This  spot  was  their  name,  their  ancestors, 
who  in  the  eyes  of  the  republican  Convention  rose  up  like 
embodied  crimes  behind  their  progeny,  to  accuse  the  guilty. 

The  Jacobin  Club,  a  short  time  after  the  capture  of 
Mayence,  began  again  in  an  infuriated  session  the  conflict 
against  the  nobility,  and  the  fanatical  Hebert  moved  : 

"  All  the  noblemen  who  serve  in  the  army,  in  the  magis- 
tracy, in  any  public  oflfice,  must  be  driven  away  and  dis- 
missed. The  people  must  require  this,  the  people  them- 
selves !  They  must  go  in  masses  to  the  Convention,  and 
after  exposing  the  crimes  and  the  treachery  of  the  aristo- 
crats, must  insist  on  their  expulsion.  The  people  must  not 
leave  the  Convention,  it  must  remain  in  permanent  session 
there  until  it  is  assured  that  its  will  is  carried  out." 

The  multitude  with  loud,  jubilant  tones  cried,  "  Yes. 
yes,  that  is  what  we  want,  let  us  go  to  the  Convention !  No 
more  nobility !  the  nobles  are  our  murderers  !  " 


148  THE  EMPRKSS  JOSEPHINE. 

The  next  day,  the  Jacobins,  accompanied  by  thousands 
of  shouting  women  and  infuriated  men,  went  to  the  Conven- 
tion to  make  known  its  will  in  the  name  of  the  people. 
The  Convention  received  their  petition  and  decreed  the  exile 
and  the  dissolution  of  the  nobility,  and  delivered  to  the 
punishment  of  the  law  the  guilty  subject  who  would  dare 
use  the  name  of  noble. 

General  de  Beauharnais  saw  full  well  the  blow  aimed  at 
him,  and  at  all  the  oflBcers  from  the  nobility  in  the  army ; 
he  foresaw  that  they  would  not  stop  at  these  measures ;  that 
soon  he  and  his  companions  of  fate  would  be  accused  and 
charged  with  treason,  as  had  been  already  done  to  General 
Custine,  and  to  so  many  others  who  had  paid  with  their 
lives  their  tried  loyalty  to  the  republic.  He  wanted  to  an- 
ticipate the  storm,  and  sent  in  his  resignation.  As  the  Con- 
vention left  his  petition  unanswered,  he  renewed  it,  and  as 
it  remained  still  ineffective,  he  gladly,  forced  to  this  measure 
by  sickness,  transferred  his  command  to  General  Landre- 
mont.  The  Convention  had  then  to  grant  him  leave  of  ab- 
sence, and,  as  it  maintained  him  in  his  rank,  they  ordered 
him  back  to  Paris. 

At  last  Josephine  saw  her  husband  again,  for  whom 
during  the  last  few  months  she  had  suffered  so  much  anxi> 
ety  and  pain.  At  last  she  was  enabled  to  bring  to  her  chil- 
dren the  father  for  whom  every  evening  they  had  prayed 
God  to  guard  him  from  foes  abroad  and  from  foes  at  home. 
As  a  gift  sent  again  by  Heaven,  she  received  her  husband 
and  entreated  him  to  save  himself  with  his  family  from 
revolution's  yawning  abyss,  which  was  ready  to  swallow 
them  all,  and  to  go  away  with  his  own  into  a  foreign  land, 
as  his  brother  had  done,  who  for  some  months  past  had 
been  in  Coblentz  with  the  Prince  d'Artois. 

But  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  rejected  with  something 
like  anger  these  tearful  supplications  of  his  wife.  He  was 
not  blinded  to  the  dangers  which  threatened  him,  but  he 


THE  EXECUTION  OF  THE  QUEEN.       149 

vanted  to  meet  them  bravely ;  true  to  the  oath  he  had 
taken  to  the  republic  and  to  his  country,  he  wished  as  a 
dutiful  son  to  remain  near  her,  even  if  his  allegiance  had  to 
be  paid  with  his  death. 

Josephine,  on  the  bosom  of  her  husband,  wept  hot,  burn- 
ing tears  as  he  communicated  to  her  his  irrevocable  decision 
not  to  leave  France,  but  in  the  depths  of  her  heart  she  ex- 
perienced a  noble  satisfaction  to  find  her  husband  so  heroic 
and  so  brave,  and,  offering  him  her  hand,  said  with  tears  in 
her  eyes : 

"  It  is  well — we  remain ;  and  if  we  must  go  to  the  scaf- 
fold, we  will  at  least  die  together." 

The  general,  with  his  wife  and  children,  retired  to  his 
small  property,  Ferte-Beauharnais,  where  he  longed  to  ob- 
tain rest  during  a  few  happy  months  of  quietude. 

But  the  fearful  storms  which  had  agitated  France  in  her 
innermost  life,  now  raged  so  violently  that  each  household, 
each  family,  trembled ;  there  was  neither  peace  nor  rest  in 
the  home  nor  in  the  hearts  of  men. 

The  Convention,  threatened  from  outside  by  failures  and 
defeats — for  the  capture  of  Mayence  by  the  Prussians  and 
Austrians  had  been  followed  by  the  capture  of  Toulon  in 
September  by  the  English — the  Convention  wanted  to  con- 
solidate at  least  its  internal  authority,  and  to  terrify  by 
severe  measures  those  who,  on  account  of  the  misfortunes 
on  the  frontiers,  might  hope  for  a  fresh  change  of  affairs  in 
the  interior,  and  who  might  help  it  to  pass. 

Consequently  the  Convention  issued  a  decree  ordering 
all  dismissed  or  destitute  soldiers  to  return  in  four-and- 
twenty  hours  to  their  respective  municipalities,  under  pain 
of  ten  years  in  chains,  and  at  the  same  time  forbade  them  to 
enter  Paris  or  to  approach  the  capital  nearer  than  ten  leagues. 

A  second  decree  ordered  the  formation  of  a  revolutionary 
army  in  Paris,  to  which  was  assigned  the  duty  of  carrying 
out  the  decrees  of  the  Convention. 


150  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Finally  a  third  decree,  which  appeared  on  the  17th  of 
September,  ordered  the  arrest  and  punishment  of  all  sus- 
pected persons. 

This  decree  thus  characterized  the  suspected  ones :  "  All 
those  who,  by  their  conduct,  their  relations,  their  discourses, 
their  writings,  had  shown  themselves  the  adherents  of  tyr- 
anny, of  federalism,  the  enemies  of  liberty,  much  more  all 
the  ex-nobles,  men,  women,  fathers,  brothers,  sons  or 
daughters,  sisters  or  brothers,  or  agents  of  the  migrated 
ones,  all  who  had  not  invariably  exhibited  and  proved  their 
adherence  to  the  revolution." 

With  this  decree  the  days  of  terror  had  reached  their 
deepest  gloom;  with  this  decree  began  the  wild,  bloody 
hunting  down  of  aristocrats  and  ci-devants ;  then  began 
suspicions,  accusations  which  needed  no  evidence  to  bring 
the  accused  to  the  guillotine  ;  then  were  renewed  the  drag- 
onnades  of  the  days  of  Louis  XIV.,  only  that  now,  instead 
of  Protestants,  the  nobles  were  hunted  down,  and  hunted 
down  to  death.  The  night  of  the  St.  Bartholomew,  the  night 
of  the  murderess  Catharine  de  Medicis  and  of  her  mad  son 
Charles  IX.,  found  now  in  France  its  cruel  and  bloody  repe- 
tition ;  only  this  night  of  horror  was  prolonged  during  the 
day,  and  shrank  not  back  from  the  light. 

The  sun  beamed  upon  the  pools  of  blood  which  flowed 
through  the  streets  of  Paris,  and  packs  of  ferocious  dogs  in 
large  numbers  lay  in  the  streets,  and  fed  upon  this  blood, 
which  imparted  to  these  once  tamed  creatures  their  natural 
wildness.  The  sun  beamed  on  the  scaffold,  which,  like  a 
threatening  monster,  lifted  itself  upon  the  Place  de  la  Revo- 
lution^ and  the  sun  beamed  upon  the  horrible  axe,  which 
every  day  cut  off  so  many  noble  heads,  and  ever  glitter- 
ing, ever  menacing,  rose  up  from  the  midst  of  blood  and 
death. 

The  sun  also  shone  upon  the  day  in  which  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, like  her  husband,  ascended  the  scaffold,  to  rest  at  last 


THE  EXECUTION  OP  THE  QUEEN.       151 

In  the  grave  from  all  her  dishonor  and  from  the  agonies  of 
the  last  years. 

This  day  was  the  16th  of  October,  1793.  For  the  last 
four  months,  Marie  Antoinette  had  longed  for  this  day  as 
for  a  long-expected  bliss;  four  months  ago  she  had.  been 
led  from  the  prison  of  the  Temple  into  the  Conciergerie, 
and  she  knew  that  the  prisoners  of  the  Conciergerie  only 
left  it  to  obtain  the  freedom  which  men  do  not  give, 
but  which  God  gives  to  the  suffering  ones,  the  freedom  of 
death. 

Marie  Antoinette  longed  for  this  liberty,  and  for  this 
deliverance  of  death.  How  distant  behind  were  the  days  of 
happiness,  of  joyous  youth,  far  behind  in  infinite  legendary 
distance  !  How  long  since  this  tall,  grave  figure,  with  its 
proud  and  yet  affable  countenance,  had  lost  all  similarity  to 
the  charming  Queen  Marie  Antoinette,  around  whom  had 
fluttered  the  genii  of  beauty,  of  youth,  of  love,  of  happi- 
ness ;  who  once  in  Trianon  had  represented  the  idyl  of  a 
pastoral  queen ;  who,  in  the  exuberance  of  joy,  had  visited 
in  disguise  the  public  opera- ball ;  who  imagined  herself  so 
secure  amid  the  French  people  as  to  believe  she  could  dis- 
pense with  the  protection  of  "  Madame  Etiquette  ; "  who 
then  was  applauded  by  all  France  with  jubilant  acclama- 
tions, and  who  now  was  persecuted  with  mad  anger  ! 

No,  the  queen  of  that  day,  Marie  Antoinette,  who,  in  the 
golden  halls  of  Versailles  and  of  the  Tuileries,  received  the 
homage  of  all  France,  and  who,  with  smiling  grace  and  face 
radiant  with  happiness,  responded  to  all  this  homage  ;  she 
had  no  resemblance  with  Louis  Capet's  widow,  who  now 
stands  before  the  tribunal  of  the  revolution,  and  gravely, 
firmly  gives  her  answers  to  the  proposed  questions. 

She  has  also  made  her  toilet  for  this  day  ;  but  how  dif- 
ferent is  this  toilet  of  the  Widow  Capet  from  that  which 
once  Marie  Antoinette  had  worn  to  be  admired ! 

Then  could  Marie  Antoinette,  the  frivolous,  fortunate 
11 


152  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

daughter  of  bliss,  shut  herself  up  in  her  boudoir  for  long 
hours  with  her  confidante  the  milliner,  Madame  Bertier,  to 
devise  some  new  ball-dress,  some  new  fichu^  some  new  orna- 
ment for  her  robes ;  then  could  Leonard,  for  this  queen  with 
her  wondrous  blond  hair,  tax  all  the  wealth  of  his  science 
and  of  his  imagination  ;  to  invent  continually  new  coiffures 
and  new  head-dresses  wherewith  to  adorn  the  beautiful  head 
of  the  Queen  Marie  Antoinette,  on  whose  towering  curls 
clustered  tufts  of  white  plumes ;  or  else  diminutive  men-of- 
war  unfurled  the  net- work  of  their  sails  ;  or  else,  for  vari- 
ety's sake,  on  that  royal  head  was  arranged  a  garden,  a 
parterre  adorned  with  flowers  and  fruits,  with  butterflies 
and  birds  of  paradise. 

The  Widow  Capet  needs  no  milliner  now  ;  she  needs  no 
friseur  now  for  her  toilette.  Her  tall,  slim  figure  is  draped 
in  a  black  woollen  dress,  which  the  republic  at  her  request 
has  granted  her  to  mourn  her  beheaded  husband ;  her  neck 
and  shoulders,  once  the  admiration  of  France,  are  now 
covered  with  a  white  muslin  kerchief,  which  in  pity  Bault, 
her  attendant  at  the  jail,  has  given  her.  Her  hair  is  un- 
covered, and  falls  in  long  natural  curls  on  either  side  of  her 
transparent,  blanched  cheeks.  This  hair  needs  no  powder 
now ;  the  long  sleepless  nights,  the  anxious  days,  have  cov- 
ered it  with  their  powder  forever,  and  the  thirty-eight-year- 
old  widow  of  Louis  Capet  wears  on  her  head  the  gray  hairs 
of  a  seventy-year-old  woman. 

In  this  toilet,  Marie  Antoinette  stands  before  the  tri- 
bunal of  the  revolution  from  the  6th  to  the  13th  day  of 
October.  There  is  nothing  royal  about  her,  nothing  but  her 
look  and  the  proud  attitude  of  her  figure. 

And  the  people  who  fill  the  galleries  in  closely-packed 
masses,  and  who  weary  not  to  gaze  on  the  queen  in  her 
humiliation,  in  her  toilet  of  anguish,  the  people  claim  con- 
stantly that  Marie  Antoinette  will  rise  from  her  rush-woven 
seat ;  that  she  will  allow  herself  to  be  stared  at  by  these 


THE  EXECUTION  OP  THE  QUEEN.  153 

masses  of  people,  whom  curiosity  and  not  compassion  have 
brought  there. 

Once,  as  at  the  call  from  the  public  in  the  galleries,  she 
rose  up,  the  queen  sighed ;  "  Ah,  will  not  the  people  soon 
be  tired  of  my  sufferings  ?  "  * 

Another  time  her  dry,  blanched  lips  murmured,  "I 
thirst."  But  no  one  near  her  dares  have  compassion  on 
this  sigh  of  agony  from  the  queen ;  each  looks  embarrassed 
at  his  neighbor ;  not  one  dares  give  a  glass  of  water  to  the 
thirsty  woman. 

One  of  the  gendarmes  has  at  last  the  courage  to  do  so, 
and  Marie  Antoinette  thanks  him  with  a  look  which  brings 
tears  in  the  eyes  of  the  gendarme,  and  which  may  perchance 
cause  his  death  to-morrow  under  the  guillotine  as  a  traitor ! 

The  gendarmes  who  guard  the  queen  have  alone  the 
courage  to  show  pity ! 

One  night,  as  she  is  led  from  the  hall  of  trial  to  her 
prison,  Marie  Antoinette  becomes  so  exhausted,  so  overpow- 
ered, that  staggering,  she  murmurs,  "  I  can  see  no  longer ! 
I  can  go  no  farther !     I  cannot  move ! " 

One  of  the  gendarmes  walking  alongside  of  her  offers 
his  arm,  and  supported  by  it  Marie  Antoinette  totters  up 
the  three  stone  steps  which  lead  into  the  prison. 

At  last,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  on  the  15th  of 
August,  the  jury  have  given  their  verdict.  It  runs :  "  Death ! 
— execution  by  the  guillotine  ! " 

Marie  Antoinette  has  heard  the  verdict  with  unmoved 
composure,  whilst  the  noise  from  the  excited  crowd  in  the 
galleries  is  suddenly  hushed  as  by  a  magic  spell,  and  even 
the  faces  of  the  infuriated  fishwomen  turn  pale ! 

Marie  Antoinette  alone  has  remained  calm ;  grave  and 
cool  she  rises  from  her  seat  and  herself  opens  the  balustrade 
to  leave  the  hall  and  return  to  her  prison. 

*  Marie  Antoinette's  own  words. — See  Goncourt,  "  Histoire  de  Marie 
Antoinette,"  p.  404. 


154  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINK 

And  then  at  last,  on  the  morning  of  the  16th  of  Octo- 
ber, her  sorrows  will  end,  and  Marie  Antoinette  can  find 
refuge  in  the  grave !  Her  soul  is  almost  joyous  and  serene  ; 
she  lias  suffered  so  much,  and  for  her  to  sink  into  death  is 
truly  blessedness ! 

She  has  passed  the  undisturbed  hours  of  the  night  in 
writing  to  her  sister-in-law,  Madame  Elizabeth,  and  this  let- 
ter is  also  the  queen's  testament.  But  the  widow  of  Louis 
Capet  has  no  riches,  no  treasures,  no  property  to  will ;  she 
has  nothing  left  which  belongs  to  her — nothing  but  her 
love,  her  tears,  her  farewell  salutations.  These  she  leaves 
behind  to  all  those  who  have  loved  her.  She  takes  leave  of 
her  relatives,  her  brothers  and  sisters,  and  cries  out  to  them 
a  farewell. 

"  I  had  friends,"  she  continues ;  "  the  thought  of  being 
forever  separated  from  them,  and  your  grief  for  my  death, 
are  my  deepest  sorrow ;  you  will  at  least  know  that  to  the 
last  moment  I  have  remembered  you." 

Then,  when  Marie  Antoinette  has  finished  this  letter, 
some  of  whose  characters  here  and  there  are  disfigured  by 
her  tears,  she  thinks  of  leaving  to  her  children  a  last  token 
of  remembrance— one  which  the  executioner's  hand  has  not 
desecrated. 

The  only  ornament  which  remains  is  her  long  hair, 
whose  silver-gray  locks  are  the  tearful  history  of  her  suf- 
ferings. 

Marie  Antoinette  with  her  own  hands  despoils  herself  of 
this  last  ornament ;  she  cuts  off  her  long  hair  behind  the 
head,  so  as  to  leave  it  as  a  last  token  to  her  children,  to  her 
relatives  and  friends.  Then,  after  having  taken  her  spirit- 
ual farewell  of  life,  she  prepares  herself  for  the  last  great 
ceremony  of  her  existence,  for  death. 

She  feels  exhausted,  weary  unto  death,  and  she  strength- 
ens herself  for  this  last  toilsome  journey,  that  she  may 
worthily  pass  through  it. 


THE  EXECUTION  OP  THE  QUEEN.  155 

Marie  Antoinette  needs  food,  and  with  courageous  mind 
she  eats  a  chicken's  wing  which  has  been  brought  to  her. 
After  having  eaten,  she  makes  her  last  toilet,  the  toilet  of 
death. 

The  wife  of  the  jailer,  at  the  queen's  request,  gives  her 
one  of  her  own  chemises,  and  Marie  Antoinette  puts  it  on. 
Then  she  clothes  herself  with  the  garments  which  she  has 
worn  during  her  days  of  trial  before  the  tribunal  of  the  rev- 
olution, only  over  the  black  woollen  dress,  which  she  has 
often  mended  and  patched  with  her  own  hand,  she  puts  on 
a  mantle  of  white  needlework.  Around  her  neck  she  ties  a 
small  plain  kerchief  of  white  muslin,  and,  as  it  is  not  allowed 
her  to  mount  the  scaffold  with  uncovered  head,  she  puts  on 
it  the  round  linen  hood  which  the  peasant-women  used  to 
wear.  Black  stockings  cover  her  feet,  and  over  them  she 
draws  shoes  of  black  woollen  stuff. 

Her  toilet  is  now  ended — earthly  things  have  passed 
away !  Keady  to  meet  death,  the  queen  lays  herself  down 
on  her  bed  and  sleeps. 

She  still  sleeps  when  she  is  notified  that  a  priest  is  there, 
ready  to  come  in,  if  she  will  confess. 

But  Marie  Antoinette  has  already  unveiled  her  heart  to 
God ;  she  will  have  none  of  these  priests  of  reason,  whom  the 
republic  has  ordained,  after  having  exiled  or  murdered  with 
the  guillotine  the  priests  of  the  Church. 

"  As  I  cannot  do  as  I  please,"  she  has  written  to  Madame 
Elizabeth,  in  her  farewell  letter,  "  so  must  I  endure  it  if  a 
priest  is  sent  to  me ;  but  I  now  declare  that  I  will  tell  him 
not  a  word,  that  I  will  consider  him  entirely  as  a  stranger 
to  me." 

And  Marie  Antoinette  held  her  word.  She  forbids  not 
the  priest  Girard  to  come  in,  but  she  answers  in  the  nega- 
tive when  he  asks  her  if  she  will  receive  from  him  the  con- 
solations of  religion. 

She  paces  her  small  cell  to  and  fro,  to  warm  herself,  for 


156  THE   EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

her  feet  are  stiff  with  cold.  As  seven  o'clock  strikes,  the 
door  opens. 

•It  is  the  executioner  of  Paris,  Samson,  who  enters. 

A  slight  tremor  runs  through  the  queen's  frame.  "  You 
come  very  early,  sir,"  murmurs  she,  "  could  you  not  delay 
somewhat  ?  " 

As  Samson  replies  in  the  negative,  Marie  Antoinette  as- 
sumes again  a  calm,  cold  attitude.  She  drinks  without  any 
reluctance  the  cup  of  chocolate  which  has  been  brought  to 
her  from  a  neighboring  cafe.  Proudly,  calmly,  she  allows 
her  hands  to  be  bound  with  strong  ropes  behind  her  back. 

At  eleven  o'clock  she  finally  leaves  her  room  to  descend 
the  corridor,  and  to  mount  into  the  wagon  which  waits  for 
her  before  the  gate  of  the  Conciergerie. 

No  one  guides  her  on  the  way ;  no  one  bids  her  a  last 
farewell ;  no  one  shows  a  sympathizing  or  sad  countenance 
to  the  departing  one. 

Alone,  between  two  rows  of  gendarmes  posted  on  both 
sides  of  the  corridor,  the  queen  walks  forward  ;  behind  her 
is  Samson,  holding  in  his  hand  the  end  of  the  rope ;  the 
priest  and  the  two  assistants  of  the  executioner  follow  him. 

On  the  path  of  Death — such  is  the  suite  of  the  queen, 
the  daughter  of  an  emperor ! 

Perchance  at  this  hour  thousands  were  on  their  knees  to 
offer  to  God  their  heart-felt  prayers  for  Marie  Antoinette, 
whom  in  the  silence  of  the  soul  they  still  call  "  the  queen ; " 
perchance  many  thousand  compassionate  hearts  pour  out 
warm  tears  of  sympathy  for  her  who  now  ascends  into  the 
miserable  wagon,  and  sits  on  a  plank  which  ropes  have 
made  firm  to  both  sides  of  the  vehicle.  But  those  who 
pray  and  weep  have  retired  into  the  solitude  of  their  rooms, 
for  God  alone  must  receive  their  sighs  and  see  their  tears. 
The  eyes  which  follow  the  queen  on  her  last  journey  must 
not  weep ;  the  words  which  are  shouted  at  her  must  betray 
no  compassion. 


THE  EXECUTION  OF  THE  QUEEN.  157 

Paris  knows  that  this  is  the  hour  of  the  queen's  execu- 
tion, and  the  Parisian  crowd  is  ready,  it  is  waiting.  In  the 
streets,  in  the  windows  of  the  houses,  on  the  roofs,  the 
people  have  stationed  themselves  in  enormous  masses ;  they 
fill  the  whole  Place  de  la  Revolution  with  their  dark,  de- 
structive forms. 

Now  resound  the  drums  of  the  National  Guard  posted 
before  the  Conciergerie.  The  large  white  horse,  which  draws 
the  chariot  in  which  Marie  Antoinette  sits  backward,  at  the 
side  of  the  priest,  is  driven  onward  by  the  man  who  swings 
on  its  back.  Behind  her  in  the  wagon  is  Samson  and  his 
assistants. 

The  queen's  face  is  white ;  all  blood  has  left  her  cheeks 
and  lips,  but  her  eyes  are  red ;  they  have  wept  so  much,  un- 
fortunate queen !  She  weeps  not  now.  Not  one  tear  dims 
her  eye,  which  pensively  and  calmly  soars  above  the  crowd, 
then  is  lifted  up  to  the  very  roofs  of  the  houses,  then  again 
is  slowly  lowered,  and  seems  to  stare  over  the  human  heads 
away  into  infinite  distance. 

Calm  and  pensive  as  the  eye  is  the  queen's  countenance, 
her  lips  are  nearly  closed,  no  nervous  movement  on  her  face 
tells  whether  she  suffers,  whether  she  feels,  whether  she 
notices  those  tens  of  thousands  of  eyes  which  are  fixed  on 
her,  cold,  curious,  sarcastic !  And  yet  Marie  Antoinette 
sees  every  thing !  She  sees  yonder  woman  who  lifts  up  her 
child ;  she  sees  how  this  child  with  his  tiny  hands  sends  a 
kiss  to  the  queen !  Suddenly  a  nervous  agitation  passes 
over  the  queen's  features,  her  lips  tremble,  and  her  eyes  are 
obscured  with  a  tear !  This  first,  this  single  token  of  human 
sympathy  has  revived  the  heart  of  the  queen  and  awakened 
her  from  her  torpor. 

But  the  people  are  bent  upon  this,  that  Marie  Antoinette 

H  shall  not  reach  the  end  of  her  journey  with  this  last  comfort 

of  pity.    They  press  on,  howling  and  shouting,  scorning  and 

jubilant,  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  wagon ;  they  sing  sarcas- 


158  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

tic  songs  on  Madame  Veto,  they  clap  hands,  and  point  at  her 
with  the  finger  of  scorn. 

She,  however,  is  calm ;  her  look,  cold  and  indifferent, 
runs  over  the  crowd;  only  once  it  flames  up  with  a  last 
angry  flash  as  she  passes  by  the  Palais  Royal,  where  Philippe 
Egalite,  the  ex-Duke  d'Orleans,  resides,  as  she  reads  the 
inscription  which  he  had  placed  at  the  gate  of  his  palace. 

At  noon  the  chariot  reaches  at  last  its  destination.  It 
stops  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold,  and  Marie  Antoinette 
alights  from  the  wagon,  and  then  calm  and  erect  ascends 
the  steps  of  the  scaffold. 

Her  lips  have  not  opened  once  on  this  awful  journey ; 
they  now  have  no  word  of  complaint,  of  farewell !  The 
only  farewell  which  she  has  yet  to  say  on  earth  is  told  by 
her  look — by  a  look  which  is  slowly  directed  yonder  to  the 
Tuileries — it  is  the  farewell  to  past  memories — it  deepens  the 
pallor  on  the  cheeks,  it  opens  her  lips  to  a  painful  sigh. 
She  then  bows  her  head — a  momentary,  breathless  silence 
follows.  Samson  lifts  up  the  white  head,  which  once  had 
been  the  head  of  the  Queen  of  France,  and  the  people  cry 
and  shout,  "  Long  live  the  republic  ! " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   ARREST. 

Uninterruptedly  had  the  guillotine  for  the  last  three 
months  of  the  year  1793  continued  its  destructive  work  of 
murder,  and  the  noblest  and  worthiest  heads  had  fallen 
under  this  reaper  of  Death.  No  personal  merit,  no  nobility 
of  character,  no  age,  no  youth,  could  hope  to  escape  the 
death-instrument  of  the  revolution  when  a  noble  name  stood 
up  as  accuser.    Before  this  accuser  every  service  was  con- 


THE  ARREST.  159 

sidered  as  nothing;  it  was  enough  to  be  an  aristocrat,  a 
ci-devant,  to  be  suspected,  to  be  dragged  as  a  criminal  before 
the  tribunal  of  the  revolution,  and  to  be  condemned. 

The  execution  of  the  queen  was  followed  by  that  of  the 
Girondists  ;  and  this  brilliant  array  of  noble  and  great  men 
was  followed  in  the  next  month  by  names  no  less  noble,  no 
less  great.  It  was  an  infuriated  chase  of  the  aristocrats  as 
well  as  of  the  officers,  of  all  the  military  persons  who,  in  the 
unfortunate  days  of  Toulon  and  of  Mayence,  had  been  in 
the  army,  and  who  had  been  dismissed,  or  whose  resignation 
had  been  accepted. 

The  aristocrats  were  tracked  in  their  most  secret  recesses, 
and  not  only  were  they  punished,  but  also  those  who  dared 
screen  them  from  the  avenging  hand  of  the  republic.  The 
officers  were  recognized  under  every  disguise,  and  the  very 
fact  that  they  had  disguised  themselves  or  remained  silent 
as  to  their  true  character  was  a  crime  great  enough  to  be 
punished  with  the  guillotine. 

More  than  twenty  generals  were  imprisoned  during  the 
last  months  of  the  year  1793,  and  many  more  paid  with 
their  lives  for  crimes  which  they  had  never  committed,  and 
which  had  existence  only  in  the  heated  imagination  of  their 
accusers.  Thus  had  General  Houchard  fallen ;  he  was  fol- 
lowed in  the  first  days  of  the  new  year  of  1794  by  the  Gen- 
erals Luckner  and  Biron. 

Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  had  served  under  Luckner,  he 
had  been  Biron's  adjutant,  he  had  been  united  with  General 
Houchard  in  the  unfortunate  attempt  to  relieve  Mayence. 
It  was  therefore  natural  that  he  should  be  noticed  and 
espied.  Besides  which,  he  was  an  aristocrat,  a  relative  of 
many  of  the  emigres,  the  brother  of  the  Count  de  Beauhar- 
nais, who  was  now  residing  in  Coblentz  with  the  Count 
d'Artois,  and  it  had  not  been  forgotten  what  an  impor- 
tant part  Alexandra  de  Beauharnais  had  played  in  the 
National  Assembly;  it  was  well  known  that  he  belonged 


160  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

to  the  moderate  party,  that  he  had  heen  the  friend  of  the 
Girondists. 

Had  the  Convention  wished  to  forget  it,  the  informers 
were  there  to  remind  them  of  it.  Alexandre  de  Beauhar- 
nais  was  denounced  as  suspected,  and  this  denunciation  was 
followed,  in  the  first  days  of  January,  by  an  arrest.  He 
was  taken  to  Paris,  and  at  first  shut  up  in  the  Luxemburg, 
where  already  many  of  his  companions-in-arms  were  incar- 
cerated. 

Josephine  was  not  in  Ferte-Beauharnais  when  the  emis- 
saries of  the  republic  came  to  arrest  her  husband.  She  was 
just  then  in  Paris,  whither  she  had  gone  to  seek  protection 
and  assistance  for  Alexandre  at  the  hands  of  influential  ac- 
quaintances; in  Paris  she  learned  the  arrest  of  her  hus- 
band. 

The  misfortune,  which  she  had  so  long  expected  and 
foreseen,  was  now  upon  her  and  ready  to  crush  her  and  the 
future  of  her  children.  Her  husband  was  arrested — that  is 
to  say,  he  was  condemned  to  die. 

At  this  thought  Josephine  rose  up  like  a  lioness ;  the 
indolence,  the  dreamy  quietude  of  the  Creole,  had  suddenly 
vanished,  and  Josephine  was  now  a  resolute,  energetic 
woman,  anxious  to  risk  every  thing,  to  try  every  thing,  so 
as  to  save  her  husband,  the  father  of  her  children.  She 
now  knew  no  timidity,  no  trembling,  no  fear,  no  horror ; 
every  thing  in  her  was  decision  of  purpose ;  keen,  daring 
action.  Letters,  visits,  petitions,  and  even  personal  suppli- 
cations, every  thing  was  tried ;  there  was  no  humiliation  be- 
fore which  she  shrank.  For  long  hours  she  sat  in  the  ante- 
rooms of  the  tribunal  of  the  revolution,  of  the  ministers 
who,  however  much  they  despised  the  aristocrats,  imitated 
their  manners,  and  made  the  people  wait  in  the  vestibule, 
even  as  the  ministers  of  the  tyrant  had  done ;  with  tears, 
with  all  the  eloquence  of  love,  she  entreated  those  men  of 
blood  and  terror  to  give  her  back  her  husband,  or  at  least 


/  THE  ARREST.  161 

not  to  condemn  him  before  he  had  been  accused,  and  to 
furnish  him  with  the  means  of  defence. 

But  those  new  lords  and  rulers  of  France  had  no  heart 
for  compassion ;  Robespierre,  Marat,  Danton,  could  not  be 
moved  by  the  tears  which  a  wife  could  shed  for  an  accused 
husband.  They  had  already  witnessed  so  much  weeping, 
listened  to  so  many  complaints,  to  so  many  cries  of  distress, 
their  eyes  were  not  open  for  such  things^  their  ears  heard 
not. 

France  was  diseased,  and  only  by  drawing  away  the  bad 
blood  could  she  be  restored  to  health,  could  she  be  made 
sound,  could  she  rise  up  again  with  the  strength  of  youth  ! 
And  Marat,  Danton,  Robespierre,  were  the  physicians  who 
were  healing  France,  who  were  restoring  her  to  health  by 
thus  horribly  opening  her  veins.  Marat  and  Danton  mur- 
dered from  bloodthirsty  hatred,  from  misanthropy  and  ven- 
geance ;  Robespierre  murdered  through  principle,  from  the 
settled  fanatical  conviction,  that  France  was  lost  if  all  the 
old  corrupt  blood  was  not  cleansed  away  from  her  veins,  so 
as  to  replenish  them  with  youthful,  vitalizing  blood. 

Robespierre  was  therefore  inexorable,  and  Robespierre 
now  ruled  over  France  !  He  was  the  dictator  to  whom 
every  thing  had  to  bow ;  he  was  at  the  head  of  the  tribunal 
of  revolution  ;  he  daily  signed  hundreds  of  death-warrants ; 
and  this  selfsame  man,  who  once  in  Arras  had  resigned  his 
office  of  judge  because  his  hand  could  not  be  induced  to 
sign  the  death-warrant  of  a  convicted  criminal  * — this  man, 
who  shed  tears  over  a  tame  dove  which  the  shot  of  a  hunter 
had  killed,  could,  with  heart  unmoved,  with  composed  look, 
sit  for  long  hours  near  the  guillotine  on  the  tribune  of  the 
revolution,  and  gaze  with  undimmed  eyes  on  the  heads  of 
his  victims  falling  under  the  axe. 

He  was  now  at  the  summit  of  his  power;  France  lay 

•  See  "  Maximilian  Robespierre,"  by  Theodore  Mundt,  vol.  i. 


162  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

bleeding,  trembling  at  his  feet ;  fear  had  silenced  even  his 
enemies ;  no  one  dared  touch  the  dreaded  man  whose  mere 
contact  was  death ;  whose  look,  when  coldly,  calmly  fixed 
on  the  face  of  any  man,  benumbed  his  heart  as  if  he  had 
read  his  sentence  of  death  in  the  blue  eyes  of  Robespierre. 

At  the  side  of  Robespierre  sat  the  terrorists  Fouquier- 
Tinville  and  Marat,  to  whom  murder  was  a  delight,  blood- 
shedding  a  joy,  who  with  sarcastic  pleasure  listened  unmoved 
to  the  cries,  to  the  tearful  prayers  of  mothers,  wives,  chil- 
dren, of  those  sentenced  to  death,  and  who  fed  on  their 
tears  and  on  their  despair. 

With  such  men  at  the  head  of  affairs  it  was  natural  that 
the  reign  of  terror  should  still  be  increasing  in  power,  and 
that  with  it  the  number  of  the  captives  in  the  prisons  should 
increase. 

In  the  month  of  January,  1794,  the  list  of  the  incarcer- 
ated within  the  prisons  of  Paris  ran  up  to  the  number  of 
4,659 ;  in  the  month  of  February  the  number  rose  up  to 
6,892 ;  in  the  beginning  of  April  to  7,541 ;  and  at  the  end 
of  the  same  month  it  was  reckoned  that  there  were  in  Paris 
eight  thousand  prisoners.* 

The  greater  the  number  of  prisoners,  the  more  zealous 
was  the  tribunal  of  the  revolution  to  get  rid  of  them ;  and 
with  satisfaction  these  judges  of  blood  saw  the  new  improve- 
ments made  in  the  guillotine,  and  which  not  only  caused 
the  machine  to  work  faster,  but  also  prevented  the  axe 
from  losing  its  edge  too  soon  by  the  sundering  of  so  many 
necks. 

"  It  works  well,"  exclaimed  Fouquier-Tinville,  triumph- 
antly ;  "  to-day  we  have  fifty  sentenced.  The  heads  fall 
like  poppy-heads ! " 

And  these  fifty  heads  falling  like  poppy-heads,  were  not 
enough  for  his  bloodthirstiness. 

•  Thiers,  "  Histoire  de  la  Revolution  Frangaise,"  vol.  vl,  p.  4L 


THE  AEREST.  163 

"  It  must  work  better  still,"  cried  he ;  "  in  the  next  dec- 
ade, I  must  have  at  least  four  hundred  and  fifty  poppy- 
heads  ! " 

And  then,  as  if  inspired  by  a  joyous  and  happy  thought, 
his  gloomy  countenance  became  radiant  with  a  grinning 
laughter,  and,  rubbing  his  hands  with  delight,  he  con- 
tinued :  "  Yes,  I  must  have  four  hundred  and  fifty !  Then, 
if  we  work  on  so  perseveringly,  we  will  soon  write  over  our 
prison-gates,  '  House  to  let ! '"  * 

They  worked  on  perseveringly,  and  the  vehicles  which 
carried  the  condemned  to  execution  rolled  every  morning 
with  a  fresh  freight  through  the  streets  of  Paris,  where  the 
guillotine,  with  its  glaring  axe,  awaited  them. 

The  month  of  April,  as  already  said,  had  brought  the 
number  of  prisoners  in  Paris  to  eight  thousand ;  the  month 
of  April  had  therefore  more  executions  to  engrave  with  its 
bloody  pen  into  the  annals  of  history.  On  the  20th  of  April 
fell  on  the  Place  de  la  Revolution  the  heads  of  fourteen 
members  of  the  ex- Parliament  of  Paris ;  the  next  day  fol- 
lowed the  Duke  de  Villeroy,  the  Admiral  d'Estaing,  the  for- 
mer Minister  of  War  Latour  du  Pin,  the  Count  de  Bethune, 
the  President  de  Nicolai.  One  day  after,  the  well-laden 
wagon  drove  from  the  Conciergerie  to  the  Place  de  la  Revo- 
lution ;  in  it  were  three  members  of  the  Constituent  Assem- 
bly, and  to  have  belonged  to  it  was  the  only  crime  they  were 
accused  of.  Near  these  three  sat  the  aged  Malesherbes, 
with  his  sister;  the  Marquis  de  Chateaubriand,  with  his 
wife  ;  the  Duchess  de  Grammont,  and  Du  Chatelet.  It  will 
be  seen  that  the  turn  for  women  had  now  come ;  for  those 
women  who  were  now  led  to  the  execution  had  committed 
no  other  crime  than  to  be  the  wives  or  the  relatives  of  emi- 
grants or  of  accused  persons,  than  to  bear  names  which  had 
shone  for  centuries  in  the  history  of  France. 

*  "  Histoire  de  I'lraperatrice  Josephine." 


164  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Josephine  also  had  an  ancient  aristocratic  name ;  she 
also  was  related  to  the  migrated  ones,  the  wife  of  an  ac- 
cused, of  a  prisoner  !  And  she  wearied  the  tribunal  of  the 
revolution  constantly  with  petitions,  with  visits,  with  com- 
plaints. They  were  tired  of  these  molestations,  and  it  was 
80  easy,  so  convenient  to  shield  one's  self  against  them ! 
There  was  nothing  else  to  do  but  to  arrest  Josephine ;  for 
once  a  prisoner,  she  could  no  longer — in  anterooms,  where 
she  would  wait  for  hours ;  in  the  street  before  the  house- 
door,  where  she  would  stand,  despite  rains  and  winds — she 
could  no  longer  trouble  the  rulers  of  France,  and  beseech 
them  with  tears  and  prayers  for  her  husband's  freedom. 
The  prisoner  could  no  more  write  petitions,  or  move  heaven 
and  earth  for  her  husband's  sake. 

The  Viscountess  de  Beauhamais  was  arrested.  On  the 
20th  of  April,  as  she  happened  to  be  at  the  proper  authori- 
ty's office  to  obtain  a  pass  according  to  the  new  law,  which 
ordered  all  ci-devants  to  leave  Paris  in  ten  days,  Josephine 
was  arrested  and  led  into  the  Convent  of  the  Carmelites, 
which  for  two  years  had  served  as  a  prison  for  the  bloody 
republic,  and  from  which  so  many  of  its  victims  had  issued 
to  mount  the  wagon  which  led  them  to  the  guillotine. 

Amid  this  wretchedness  there  was  one  sweet  joy.  Alex- 
andre de  Beauharnais  had  no  sooner  heard  of  the  arrest  of 
his  wife,  than  he  asked  as  a  favor  from  the  tribunal  of  the 
revolution  to  be  removed  into  the  same  prison  where  his 
wife  was.  In  an  incomprehensible  fit  of  merciful  humor 
his  prayer  was  granted  ;  he  was  transferred  to  the  Convent 
of  the  Carmelites,  and  if  the  husband  and  wife  could  not 
share  the  same  cell,  yet  they  were  within  the  same  walls, 
and  could  daily  (through  the  turnkeys,  who  had  to  be  bribed 
by  all  manner  of  means,  by  promises,  by  gold,  as  much  as 
could  be  gathered  together  among  the  prisoners)  hear  the 
news. 

Josephine  was  united  to  her  husband.     She  received 


THE  ARREST.  ,  165 

daily  from  him  news  and  messages ;  she  could  often,  in  the 
hours  when  the  prisoners  in  separate  detachments  made 
their  promenades  in  the  yard  and  in  the  garden,  meet  Alex- 
andre, reach  him  her  hand,  whisper  low  words  of  trust,  of 
hope,  and  speak  with  him  of  Eugene  and  Hortense,  of  these 
dear  children  who,  now  deserted  by  their  parents,  could 
hope  for  protection  and  safety  only  from  the  faithfulness 
and  love  of  their  governess,  Madame  Lanoy.  The  thought 
of  these  darling  ones  of  her  heart  excited  and  troubled  Jose- 
phine, and  all  the  pride  and  courage  with  which  she  had 
armed  her  heart  melted  into  tears  of  anxiety  and  into  long- 
ings for  her  deserted  children. 

But  Madame  Lanoy  with  the  most  faithful  solicitude 
watched  over  the  abandoned  ones ;  she  had  once  sworn  to 
Josephine  that  if  the  calamity,  which  Josephine  had  con- 
stantly anticipated,  should  fall  upon  her  and  upon  her  hus- 
band, she  would  be  to  Hortense  and  Eugene  a  second  mother ; 
she  would  care  for  them  and  protect  them  as  if  they  were 
her  own  children.    And  Madame  Lanoy  kept  her  promise. 

To  place  them  beyond  the  dangers  which  their  very 
name  made  imminent,  and  also  perhaps  to  give  by  means  of 
the  children  evidence  of  the  patriotic  sentiments  of  the 
parents,  Madame  Lanoy  left  with  the  children  the  viscount's 
house,  where  they  had  hitherto  resided,  and  occupied  with 
both  of  them  a  small  shabby  house,  where  she  established  her- 
self as  seamstress.  The  little  eleven-year-old  Hortense,  the 
daughter  of  the  Citizeness  Beauharnais,  was  now  the  assist- 
ant of  the  Citizeness  Lanoy,  at  the  trade  of  seamstress, 
Eugene  was  apprenticed  to  a  cabinet-maker ;  a  leather  apron 
was  put  on,  and  then  with  a  plank  under  his  arm,  and  carry- 
ing a  plane  in  his  hand,  he  went  through  the  streets  to  the 
workshop  of  the  cabinet-maker,  and  every  one  lauded  the 
patriotic  sentiments  of  the  Citizeness  Lanoy,  who  tried  to 
educate  the  brood  of  the  ex-aristocrats  into  orderly  and 
moral  beings. 


166  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Eugene  and  Hortense  fell  rapidly  and  understandingly 
into  the  plan  of  their  faithful  governess ;  they  transformed 
themselves  in  their  language,  in  their  dress,  in  their  whole 
being  and  appearance,  into  little  republicans,  full  of  genuine 
patriotism.  Like  their  cousin,  Emile  de  Beauharnais,  whose 
mother  (the  wife  of  the  elder  brother  of  the  Viscount  de 
Beauharnais)  had  already  for  a  long  time  languished  in 
prison,  they  attended  the  festivals  which  had  for  its  object 
the  glorification  of  the  republic,  and,  alongside  of  the  Citi- 
zeness  Lanoy,  the  little  milliner  Hortense  followed  the  pro- 
cession of  her  quarter  of  the  city,  perhaps  to  awaken  thereby 
the  good- will  of  the  authorities  in  favor  of  her  imprisoned 
parents. 

Then,  when  Madame  Lanoy  thought  this  good-will  had 
been  gained,  she  made  a  step  further,  and  undertook  to  have 
the  children  present  to  the  Convention  a  petition  for  their 
parents.     This  petition  ran  thus : 

"  Two  innocent  children  appeal  to  you,  fellow-citizens,  for 
the  freedom  of  their  dear  mother — their  mother  against  whom 
no  reproach  can  be  made  but  the  misfortune  of  being  born 
in  a  class  from  which,  as  she  has  proven,  she  ever  felt  com- 
pletely estranged,  for  she  has  ever  surrounded  herself  with 
the  best  patriots,  the  most  distinguished  men  of  the  Moun- 
tain. After  she  had  on  the  26th  of  Germinal  requested  a 
pass  in  order  to  obey  the  law,  she  was  arrested  on  the  evening 
of  that  day  without  knowing  the  cause.  Citizen  representa- 
tives, you  cannot  be  guilty  of  oppressing  innocence,  patriotism, 
and  virtue.  Give  back  to  us  unfortunate  children  our  life. 
Our  youth  is  not  made  for  suffering."  Signed ;  Eugekb 
Beauharnais,  aged  twelve  years,  and  Hortense  Beau- 
harnais, aged  eleven  years.* 

To  this  complaint  of  two  deserted  children  no  more  at- 
tention was  paid  than  to  the  cries  of  the  dove  which  the 

♦  *'  Histoire  de  I'lmp^ratrice  Josephine,"  par  Aubenas. 


THE  ARREST.  167 

hawk  carries  away  in  its  claws,  but  perhaps  the  innocent 
touching  words  of  the  petition  had  awakened  compassion  in 
the  heart  of  some  father. 

It  is  true  no  answer  was  given  to  the  petition  of  the 
children,  but  the  Citizeness  Lanoy  was  allowed  to  take  the 
children  of  the  accused  twice  a  week  into  the  reception- 
room  of  the  Carmelite  Convent,  that  there  they  might  see 
and  speak  to  their  mother. 

This  was  a  sweet  comfort,  an  unhoped-for  joy,  as  well  to 
Josephine  as  to  her  husband ;  for  if  he  was  not  permitted  to 
come  into  the  lower  room  and  see  the  children,  yet  he  now 
saw  them  through  the  eyes  of  his  wife,  and  through  her 
he  received  the  wishes  of  their  tender  affection. 

What  happiness  for  Josephine,  who  loved  her  children 
with  all  the  unrestrained  fondness  of  a  Creole !  what  happi- 
ness to  see  her  Eugene,  her  Hortense,  and  to  be  permitted 
to  speak  to  them !  How  much  they  had  to  say  one  to 
another,  how  much  to  communicate  one  to  the  other ! 

It  is  true  much  had  to  be  passed  in  silence  if  they  would 
not  excite  the  anger  of  the  turnkey,  who  was  always  present 
at  the  meeting  of  the  children  with  their  mother.  Strict 
orders  had  been  given  that  Josephine  should  never  whisper 
one  word  to  the  children,  or  speak  to  them  of  the  events  of 
the  day,  of  what  was  going  on  beyond  the  prison  walls.  The 
least  infringement  of  this  rule  was  to  be  punished  by  debar- 
ring the  children  from  having  any  further  conversation  with 
their  mother. 

And  yet  they  had  so  much  to  say ;  they  needed  her  ad- 
vice so  much,  so  as  to  know  what  future  steps  they  might 
take  to  accomplish  their  mother's  freedom !  They  had  so 
much  to  tell  to  Josephine  about  relatives  and  friends,  and 
above  all  so  much  to  say  about  what  was  going  on  outside  of 
the  prison  !  But  how  bring  her  news  ?  how  speak  to  their 
mother?  how  receive  her  message  in  such  a  way  that  the 

jailer's  ears  could  not  know  what  was  said  ? 
12 


X68  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Love  is  full  of  invention.  It  turns  every  thing  into  sub- 
serviency to  its  end.  Love  once  turned  the  dove  into  a  car- 
rier ;  love  made  Josephine's  children  find  out  a  new  mail- 
carrier — it  made  them  invent  the  lapdog  mail. 

Josephine,  like  all  Creoles,  had,  besides  her  love  for 
flowers,  botany,  and  birds,  a  great  fondness  for  dogs.  Never 
since  the  earliest  days  of  her  childhood  had  Josephine  been 
seen  in  her  room,  at  the  promenade,  or  in  her  carriage,  with- 
out one  of  these  faithful  friends  and  companions  of  man, 
which  share  with  the  lords  of  creation  all  their  good  qualities 
and  virtues,  without  being  burdened  with  their  failings.  The 
love,  the  faithfulness,  the  cunningness  of  dogs  are  virtues, 
wherewith  they  successfully  rival  man,  and  the  dogs  boast 
only  of  one  quality  which  amongst  men  is  considered  a  des- 
picable vice,  namely,  the  canine  humbleness  which  these 
animals  practise,  without  egotism,  without  calculation, 
whilst  man  practises  it  only  when  his  interest  and  his  self- 
ishness make  it  seem  advantageous. 

Two  years  before,  a  friend  of  Josephine  had  given  her  a 
small,  young  model  of  the  then  fashionable  breed  of  dogs,  a 
small  lapdog,  and  at  once  Josephine  had  made  a  pet  of  the 
little  animal,  which  had  been  recommended  to  her  as  the 
progeny  of  a  rare  and  genuine  race  of  lapdogs.  It  is  true 
the  little  Fortune  had  not  fulfilled  what  had  been  promised ; 
he  had  not  grown  up  exactly  into  a  model  of  beauty  and 
loveliness.  With  small  feet,  a  long  body  of  a  pale  yellow 
rather  than  red,  a  thick,  double,  flat  nose,  this  lapdog  had 
nothing  of  its  race  but  the  black  face,  and  the  tail  in  the 
shape  of  a  corkscrew.  Besides  all  this,  he  was  undoubtedly 
of  a  surly,  quarrelsome  disposition,  and  he  preferred  the  in- 
dolence and  ease  of  his  cushion  to  either  a  promenade  with 
Josephine  or  to  a  game  with  her  children. 

But  since  Josephine  was  no  more  there,  since  her  beau- 
tiful hands  no  more  presented  him  his  food,  a  change  had 
come  over  Fortwi^'s  character ;  he  had  awakened  from  the 


THE  ARREST.  169 

effeminacy  of  happiness  to  full  activity.  The  children  had 
but  to  say,  "  We  are  going  to  mamma,"  and  at  once  For- 
tune would  spring  up  from  his  cushion  with  a  cheerful 
Bark,  and  run  out  into  the  streets,  describing  circles  and 
performing  joyous  leaps.  Fortune,  as  soon  as  the  reception- 
room  of  the  prison  was  opened,  was  always  the  first  to  rush 
in,  barking  loudly  at  the  jailer ;  then,  when  his  spite  was 
over,  to  run  with  all  the  signs  of  passionate  tenderness 
toward  his  mistress;  then  he  would  surround  her  with 
caresses,  and  leap,  bark,  and  whine,  until  she  noticed  him, 
until  she  should  have  kissed  and  embraced  the  children,  and 
then  taken  him  up  in  her  arms. 

But  one  day,  as  the  door  of  the  reception-room  opened, 
and  Eugene  and  Hortense  entered  w^ith  Madame  Lanoy, 
Fortune's  loud  barking  trumpet  sounded  not,  and  he 
sprang  not  forward  toward  Josephine.  He  walked  on 
gravely  with  measured  steps  at  the  side  of  Madame  Lanoy, 
who  led  him  with  a  string  which  she  had  fastened  to  his 
collar.  With  important,  thoughtful  mien,  he  gazed  re- 
signedly and  gravely  at  his  mistress,  and  even  for  his  hated 
foe  the  jailer  he  had  but  a  dull  growl,  which  he  soon 
repressed. 

Josephine  was  somewhat  alarmed  at  this  change  in  For- 
tune's demeanor,  and  after  she  had  welcomed,  taken  to  her 
bosom  and  kissed  her  darling  children,  after  she  had  saluted 
the  good  Madame  Lanoy,  she  inquired  why  Fortune  was  so 
sad  and  why  he  was  led  as  a  captive. 

"  Because  he  is  so  wild  and  unruly,  mamma,"  said  Eu- 
gene, with  a  peculiar  smile,  "  because  he  wants  always  to  be 
the  first  to  salute  you,  and  because  he  barks  so  loud  that  we 
cannot  possibly  for  some  time  hear  what  our  dear  mamma 
has  to  say." 

"  And  then,  in  the  street,  he  is  so  wicked  and  trouble- 
some," cried  Hortense,  with  eagerness,  "  and  he  always  be- 
gins quarrelling  and  fighting  with  every  dog  which  passes 


170  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

by,  and  we  must  stand  there  and  wait  for  him  when  we  are 
so  anxious  to  see  our  dear  mamma." 

"  For  all  these  reasons,"  resumed  Madame  Lanoy,  with 
slow,  solemn  intonation,  "for  all  these  reasons  we  have 
thought  it  necessary  to  chain  Fortun6  and  to  tighten  up  his 
collar." 

"  And  you  have  done  quite  well,  citizeness,"  growled  the 
turnkey, "  for  I  had  already  thought  of  silencing  forever  the 
abominable  lapdog  if  he  again  barked  at  me  so." 

Josephine  said  nothing,  but  the  peculiar  smile  she  had 
noticed  on  her  children's  face  had  passed,  at  the  words  of 
Madame  Lanoy,  over  Josephine's  radiant  countenance,  and 
she  now  with  her  pet  names  called  Fortune  to  her,  to  press 
him  to  her  heart,  to  pat  him,  and  by  all  these  caresses  to 
make  amends  for  his  having  his  collar  somewhat  tightened. 

But  whilst  thus  petting  him,  and  tenderly  smoothing 
down  his  sleek  fur,  her  slim  fingers  quickly  and  cautiously 
passed  under  the  wide  collar  of  Fortune.  Then  her  eyes 
were  rapidly  directed  toward  the  jailer.  He  was  engaged  in 
animated  conversation  with  Madame  Lanoy,  who  knew  how 
to  make  him  talk,  by  inquiring  after  the  health  of  his  little 
sick  daughter. 

A  second  time  Josephine's  fingers  were  passed  under 
Fortune's  collar — for  she  had  well  understood  the  words  of 
Madame  Lanoy — with  a  woman's  keen  instinct  she  under- 
stood why  Fortune's  collar  had  been  drawn  closer  about 
him.  She  had  felt  the  thin,  closely-folded  paper,  which  was 
tied  up  with  the  string  in  the  dog's  collar,  and  she  drew  it 
out  rapidly,  adroitly  to  hide  it  in  her  hand.  She  then  called 
Hortense  and  Eugene,  and  whilst  she  talked  with  them,  she 
slowly  and  carefully,  under  pretext  of  adjusting  more  closely 
the  kerchief  round  her  neck,  secreted  the  paper  in  her 
bosom. 

The  jailer  had  seen  nothing ;  he  was  telling  Madame 
Lanoy,  with  all  the  pride  of  a  kind  father,  that  all  the  pris- 


THE  ARREST.  171 

oners  were  anxious  about  his  little  Eugenie ;  that  all,  more 
than  once  a  day,  inquired  how  it  fared  with  the  little  one ; 
that  she  was  the  pet  of  the  prisoners,  who  were  so  delighted 
to  have  the  child  with  them,  and  for  long  hours  to  jest  and 
play  with  her.  Unfortunate  captives,  who  flattered  the  child, 
and  feigned  love  for  it,  so  as  to  move  the  father's  heart, 
and  instil  into  it  a  little  compassion  for  their  misfortune ! 

When  Eugene  and  Hortense  came  the  next  time  with 
their  faithful  Lanoy,  Fortune  was  again  led  by  the  string  as 
a  prisoner,  and  this  time  Josephine  was  still  more  affection- 
ate than  before.  She  not  only  welcomed  him  at  his  en- 
trance, and  lifted  him  up  in  her  arms,  but  she  was  yet,  if 
possible,  more  affectionate  toward  him  at  the  time  of  de- 
parture, and  embraced  him,  and  tried  if  the  collar  had  not 
been  buckled  on  too  tightly,  if  the  string  which  was  tied 
round  it  did  not  hurt  him  too  much.  And  whilst  she  ex- 
amined this,  Eugene  was  telling  the  jailer  that  he  was  now 
a  worthy  apprentice  of  a  cabinet-maker,  and  that  he  hoped 
one  day  to  be  a  useful  citizen  of  the  republic.  The  jailer 
was  listening  to  him  with  a  complacent  smile,  and  had  no 
suspicion  that  at  this  moment  Josephine's  cunning  fingers 
were  making  sure  with  the  string  under  the  collar  the  note 
in  which  she  gave  an  answer  to  the  other  note  that  she  had 
before  found  under  the  collar  of  Fortune.* 

From  this  day,  Josephine  knew  every  thing  of  impor- 
tance in  Paris ;  from  this  time  she  could  point  out  to  her 
children  the  means  to  pursue  so  as  to  win  to  their  parents 
influential  and  powerful  friends,  so  that  they  might  one  day 
be  delivered  from  their  captivity.  Fortune  was  love's  mes- 
senger between  Josephine  and  her  children  ;  a  beam  of  hap- 
piness had  penetrated  both  cells,  where  lived  Alexandre  de 
Beauharnais  and  Josephine,  and  they  owed  this  gleam  only 
to  the  lapdog  mail. 

*  "  Souvenirs  d'un  Sexagenaire,"  par  M.  L.  Amould,  vol.  iii,,  p.  3. 


178  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

IN  PBISON. 

SiKCE  France  had  become  a  democratic  republic,  since 
the  differences  in  rank  were  abolished,  and  liberty,  equality, 
and  fraternity  alone  prevailed,  the  aristocracy  was  either 
beyond  the  frontiers  of  France  or  else  in  the  prisons.  Outside 
of  the  prison  were  but  citoyens  and  citoyennes ;  inside  of 
the  prison  were  yet  dukes  and  duchesses,  counts  and  count- 
esses, viscounts  and  viscountesses ;  there,  behind  locks  and 
bars,  the  aristocracy  was  represented  in  its  most  glorious 
and  high-sounding  names. 

And  there  also,  within  these  walls,  was  the  proud,  strict 
dame,  whom  Marie  Antoinette  had  once,  to  her  misfortune, 
driven  away  from  the  Tuileries,  and  who  had  not  been  per- 
mitted to  possess  a  single  foot  of  ground  in  all  France — 
there,  within  the  prison  with  the  aristocrats,  lived  also 
Madame  Etiquette.  She  had  to  leave  the  Tuileries  with  the 
nobility,  and  with  the  nobility  she  had  entered  into  the 
prisons  of  the  Conciergerie  and  of  the  Carmelite  Convent. 
There  she  ruled  with  the  same  authority  and  with  the  same 
gravity  as  once  in  happier  days  she  had  done  in  the  king^s 
palace. 

The  republic  had  mixed  together  the  prisoners  without 
any  distinction,  and  in  the  hall,  where  every  morning  they 
gathered  together  to  attend  to  the  roll-call  of  the  condemned 
who  were  to  report  for  the  guillotine ;  in  the  narrow  rooms 
and  cells,  where  they  passed  the  rest  of  the  day,  the  republic 
had  made  no  distinction  between  all  these  inmates  of  the 
prison,  dukes  and  simple  knights,  duchesses  and  baronesses, 
princesses  of  the  blood  and  country  nobility  of  inferior 
degree.  But  etiquette  was  there  to  remedy  this  unseem- 
liness of  fate  and  to  re-establish  the  natural  order  of  things 
•—etiquette,  which  had  enacted  rules  and  laws  for  the  halls 


IN  PRISON.  173 

of  kings,  enforced  them  also  in  the  halls  of  prisons.  Only 
for  the  ladies  of  the  most  afacient  nohility,  the  duchesses 
and  princesses  of  the  blood,  in  the  prison-rooms,  as  once  in 
the  king's  halls,  the  small  stool  {tabouret)  was  reserved,  and 
they  were  privileged  to  occupy  the  rush-bottomed  seats 
which  were  in  the  prisons,  and  which  now  replaced  the 
tabouret.  No  lady  of  inferior  rank  would  consent  to  sit 
down  in  their  presence  unless  these  ladies  of  superior  rank 
had  expressly  requested  and  entitled  their  inferior  compan- 
ions of  misfortune  to  do  so.  When,  at  the  appointed  hour, 
the  halls  were  abandoned  for  the  general  promenade  in  the 
yards  of  the  Conciergerie,  or  in  the  small  cloistered  gardens 
of  the  Carmelites,  this  recreation  was  preceded  by  a  cere- 
mony which  shortened  its  already  short  hour  by  at  least  ten 
minutes :  the  ladies  and  the  gentlemen,  according  to  their 
order,  rank,  and  nobility,  placed  themselves  in  two  rows  on 
either  side  of  the  outer  door,  and  between  them  passed  on 
first  in  ceremonial  order  of  rank,  as  at  a  court-festival,  the 
ladies  and  gentlemen  who  at  court  were  entitled  to  the  high 
and  small  levees,  as  well  as  to  the  tabouret,  and  to  the  kiss- 
ing of  the  queen's  hand.  As  they  passed,  each  bowed  low, 
and  then,  with  the  same  due  observance  of  rank,  as  was 
customary  at  court,  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  inferior 
titles  followed  two  by  two,  when  the  higher  nobility  had 
passed.* 

It  was  yet  the  court-society  which  was  assembled  here  in 
the  rooms  and  cells  of  the  prison ;  only  this  court-society, 
this  aristocracy,  had  no  more  King  Louis  to  do  homage 
unto,  but  they  served  another  king,  they  bowed  low  before 
another  queen  !  This  king  to  whom  the  nobility  of  France 
belonged  was  Death;  this  queen  to  which  proud  heads 
bowed  low  was  the  Guillotine ! 

It  was  King  Death  who  now  summoned  the  aristocrats 

*  "  Souvenirs  de  la  Marquise  de  Cr^qui,  vol.  v. 


1Y4  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

to  his  court ;  the  scaffold  was  the  hall  of  festivity  where  sol- 
emn homage  was  made  to  this  king.  It  would  therefore 
have  been  against  all  etiquette  to  crowd  into  this  hall  of  fes- 
tivity with  beclouded  countenance  ;  this  would  have  dimin- 
ished the  respect  due  to  King  Death,  if  he  had  not  been  ap- 
proached with  full-court  ceremonial,  and  with  the  serene, 
easy  smile  of  a  courtier.  To  die,  to  meet  death  was  now  a 
distinction,  an  honor  for  which  each  almost  envied  the 
other.  When  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  gathering 
took  place  in  the  large  room,  the  conversation  was  of  the 
most  cheerful  and  unaffected  easiness;  they  joked,  they 
laughed,  they  speculated  on  politics,  though  it  was  well 
known  that  in  a  few  minutes  yonder  door  was  to  open,  and 
that  on  its  threshold  the  jailer  would  appear,  list  in  hand  ; 
that  from  this  list  he  would  call  out  with  his  loud,  croaking 
voice,  as  Death's  harbinger,  the  names  of  those  whose  death- 
warrants  had  been  yesterday  signed  by  Robespierre,  and 
who  would  have  immediately  to  leave  the  hall,  to  mount  the 
wagons  which  were  already  waiting  at  the  prison's  gate  to 
drive  them  to  the  guillotine. 

While  the  jailer  read  his  list,  suspense  and  excitement 
were  visible  on  all  faces,  but  no  one  would  have  so  deeply 
lowered  himself  as  to  betray  fear  or  anguish  when  his  name 
fell  from  the  lips  of  the  jailer.  The  smile  remained  on  the 
lip,  friends  and  acquaintances  were  bidden  farewell  with  a 
cheerful  salutation,  and  with  easy,  unaffected  demeanor 
they  quitted  the  hall  to  mount  the  fatal  vehicle. 

To  die  gracefully  was  now  considered  as  much  hon  ton 
as  it  had  been  once  fashionable  gracefully  to  enter  the  ball- 
room and  do  obeisance  to  the  king ;  contempt  and  scorn 
would  have  followed  him  who  might  have  exhibited  a  sor- 
rowful mien,  hesitation,  or  fear. 

One  morning  the  jailer  had  read  his  list,  and  sixteen 
gentlemen  and  ladies  of  the  aristocracy  had  consequently  to 
leave  the  hall  of  the  Conciergerie  to  enter  both  wagons  now 


IN  PRISON.  175 

ready  at  the  gate.  As  they  were  starting  for  the  fatal  jour- 
ney a  second  turnkey  appeared,  to  say  that  through  some 
accident  only  one  of  the  wagons  was  ready,  and  that  con- 
sequently only  eight  of  the  sentenced  ones  could  be  driven 
to  the  guillotine.  This  meant  that  the  accident  nullified 
eight  death-warrants  and  saved  the  lives  of  eight  sentenced 
persons.  For  it  was  not  probable  that  these  eight  persons 
would  next  morning  be  honored  with  an  execution.  Their 
warrants  were  signed,  their  names  had  been  called ;  neither 
the  tribunal  of  the  revolution  nor  the  jailer  could  pay 
special  attention  whether  their  heads  had  fallen  or  not. 
The  next  day  would  bring  on  new  condemnations,  new 
lists,  new  distinctions  for  the  wagons,  new  heads  for  the 
guillotine.  Whoever,  on  the  day  appointed  for  the  execu- 
tion, missed  the  guillotine,  could  safely  reckon  that  his  life 
was  saved ;  that  henceforth  he  was  amongst  the  forgotten 
ones,  of  whom  a  great  number  filled  the  prisons,  and  who 
expected  their  freedom  through  some  favorable  accident. 

To-day,  therefore,  only  eight  of  the  sixteen  condemned 
were  to  mount  the  wagon.  But  who  were  to  be  the  favored 
ones  ?  The  two  turnkeys,  with  cold  indifference,  left  the 
choice  to  the  condemned.  Only  eight  could  be  accommo- 
dated in  the  wagon,  they  said,  and  it  was  the  same  who 
went  or  who  remained.     "  Make  your  choice !  " 

A  strife  arose  among  the  sixteen  condemned  ones — not 
as  to  who  might  remain  behind,  but  as  to  those  who  might 
mount  into  the  wagon. 

The  ladies  declared  that,  according  to  the  rules  of  com- 
mon politeness,  which  allowed  ladies  to  go  first,  the  choice 
belonged  to  them  ;  the  gentlemen  objected  to  this  motion 
of  the  ladies  on  the  plea  that  to  reach  the  guillotine  steps 
had  to  be  ascended,  and  as  etiquette  required  that  in  going 
up-stairs  the  gentlemen  should  always  precede  the  ladies, 
they  were  also  now  entitled  to  go  first  and  to  mount  the 
steps  of  the  scaffold  before  the  ladies.    At  last  all  had  to 


176  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

give  way  to  the  claims  of  the  Duchess  de  Grammont,  who 
declared  that  at  this  festival  as  at  every  other  the  order  of 
rank  was  to  be  observed,  and  that  she,  as  well  as  all  the 
gentlemen  and  ladies  of  superior  rank,  had  the  undisputed 
privilege  now,  as  at  all  other  celebrations,  to  take  the 
precedency. 

No  one  ventured  to  oppose  this  decision,  and  the  Duch- 
ess de  Grammont,  proud  of  the  victory  won,  was  the  first  to 
leave  the  room  and  mount  the  wagon. 

Another  time  the  turnkey  began  to  read  the  list :  every 
one  listened  with  grave  attention,  and  at  every  call  a  clear, 
cheerful  "  Here  I  am !  "  followed. 

But  after  the  jailer,  with  wearied  voice,  had  many  times 
repeated  a  name  from  his  list,  the  accustomed  answer  failed. 
No  one  came  forward,  no  one  seemed  to  be  there  to  lay 
claim  to  that  name  and  to  the  execution.  The  jailer 
stopped  a  few  minutes,  and  as  all  were  dumb,  he  continued, 
indifferent  and  unmoved,  to  call  out  the  names. 

"  We  will  then  have  only  fifteen  heads  to  deliver  to-day," 
said  he,  after  reading  the  list,  "  for  there  must  have  been  a 
mistake.  One  of  the  names  is  false,  or  else  the  person  to 
whom  it  belongs  has  already  been  delivered." 

"  It  is  probably  but  a  blunder  of  the  pen ! "  exclaimed  a 
handsome  young  man  who,  smiling,  stepped  out  of  the 
crowd  of  listeners  and  passed  on  to  the  side  where  the 
victims  stood.  "  You  read  Chapetolle.  There  is  no  such 
name  here.  The  hand  of  the  writer  was  probably  tired  of 
writing  the  numerous  lists  of  those  who  are  sentenced  to 
death,  and  he  has  therefore  written  the  letters  wrong.  My 
name  is  Chapelotte,  and  I  am  the  one  meant  by  Chape- 
tolle." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  jailer,  "  but  it  is  certain  that 
sixteen  sentenced  ones  ought  to  go  into  the  wagons,  and 
that  only  fifteen  have  reported  themselves  in  a  legal  way." 

"  Well,  then,  add  me  in  an  illegal  manner  to  your  fifteen," 


IN  PRISON.  1Y7 

said  the  young  man,  smiling.  "Without  doubt  it  is  my 
name  they  intended  to  write.  I  do  not  wish  to  save  my  life 
through  a  blunder  in  writing,  and  who  knows  if  another 
time  I  may  find  such  good  company  as  to-day  in  your  char- 
iot ?    Allow  me  then  to  journey  on  with  my  friends." 

The  jailer  had  no  reason  to  refuse  him  this  journey,  and 
he  had  the  satisfaction  besides  of  being  thus  able  to  deliver 
sixteen  sentenced  prisoners  to  the  guillotine. 

Such  was  the  society  of  the  aristocrats,  among  whom 
Josephine  lived  the  long,  dreary  days  of  her  imprisonment. 
The  cell  she  occupied  was  shared  by  two  companions  of 
misfortune,  the  Duchess  de  Aguillon  and  the  beautiful 
Madame  de  Fontenay,  who  afterward  became  Madame 
Tallien,  so  distinguished  and  renowned  for  her  beauty  and 
wit.  Therese  de  Fontenay  knew,  and  every  one  knew,  that 
she  was  already  sentenced,  even  if  her  sentence  was  not  yet 
written  down  and  countersigned.  It  was  recorded  in  the 
heart  of  Robespierre.  He  had  sentenced  her,  without  any 
concealment.  She  had  but  a  few  weeks  more  to  endure  the 
martyrdom,  the  anguish  of  hope  and  of  expectation.  She 
was  his  secure  victim ;  Eobespierre  needed  not  hasten  the 
fall  of  this  beautiful  head,  which  was  the  admiration  of  all 
who  saw  it.  This  beauty  was  the  very  crime  which  Eobes- 
pierre wanted  to  punish,  for  with  this  beauty,  Therese  de 
Fontenay,  who  then  resided  in  Bordeaux  with  her  husband, 
had  captivated  the  old  friend  and  associate  in  sentiments  of 
Robespierre,  the  fanatical  Tallien ;  with  this  beauty  she  had 
converted  the  man  of  blood  and  terror  into  a  soft,  compas- 
sionate being,  inclined  to  pardon  and  to  mercy  toward  his 
fellow-beings. 

Tallien  had  been  sent  as  commissionnaire  from  the  Con- 
vention to  Bordeaux,  and  there  with  inexorable  severity  he 
had  raged  against  the  unfortunate  merchants,  from  whom 
he  exacted  enormous  assessments,  and  whom  he  sentenced 
to  the  guillotine  if  they  refused,  or  were  unable  to  pay 


178  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

But  suddenly  love'  changed  the  bloodthirsty  tiger  into  a 
sensitive  being,  and  the  beautiful  Madame  de  Fontenay, 
who  had  become  acquainted  with  Tallien  in  the  prison  of 
Bordeaux,  had  worked  a  complete  change  in  his  whole 
being.  For  the  first  time  this  man,  who  unmoved  had  con- 
demned to  death  King  Louis  and  the  Girondists,  found  on 
his  lips  the  word  "  pardon ; "  for  the  first  time  the  hand 
which  had  signed  so  many  death-warrants  wrote  the  order 
to  let  a  prisoner  go  free. 

This  prisoner  was  Therese  de  Fontenay,  the  daughter  of 
the  Spanish  banker  Cabarrus,  and  she  rewarded  him  for  the 
gift  of  her  life  with  a  smile  which  forever  made  him  her 
captive.  From  this  time  the  death-warrants  were  converted 
into  pardons  from  his  lips,  and  for  every  pardon  Therese 
thanked  him  with  a  sweet  smile,  with  a  glowing  look  of 
love. 

But  this  leniency  was  looked  upon  as  criminal  by  the  tri- 
bunal of  terror  in  Paris.  They  recalled  the  culprit  who 
dared  pardon  instead  of  punishing;  and  if  Robespierre 
did  not  think  himself  powerful  enough  to  send  Tallien  as  a 
traitor  and  as  an  apostate  to  the  scaffold,  he  punished  him 
for  his  leniency  by  separating  from  him  Therese  de  Fonte- 
nay, who  had  abandoned  the  husband  forced  upon  her,  and 
who  had  followed  Tallien  to  Paris,  and  Robespierre  had  sent 
her  to  prison. 

There,  at  the  Carmelites',  was  Therese  de  Fontenay ;  she 
occupied  the  same  cell  as  Josephine ;  the  same  misfortune 
had  made  them  companions  and  friends.  They  communi- 
cated one  to  the  other  their  hopes  and  fears ;  and  when  Jose- 
phine, with  tears  in  her  eyes,  spoke  to  her  friend  of  her 
children,  of  her  deep  anguish,  for  they  were  alone  and  aban- 
doned in  the  world  outside  of  the  prison  walls,  whilst  their 
unfortunate  pitiable  mother  languished  in  prison,  Therese 
comforted  and  encouraged  her. 

"  So  long  as  one  lives  there  is  hope,"  said  Therese,  with 


IN  PRISON.  179 

her  enchanting  smile.  "  Myself,  who  in  the  eyes  of  you  all 
am  sentenced  to  death,  hope — no,  I  hope  not — I  am  con- 
vinced that  I  will  soon  obtain  my  freedom.  And  I  swear 
that,  as  soon  as  I  am  free,  I  will  stir  heaven  and  earth  to  pro- 
cure the  liberty  of  my  dear  friend  Josephine  and  of  her  hus- 
band the  Viscount  de  Beauharnais,  and  to  give  back  to  the 
poor  orphaned  children  their  parents." 

Josephine  answered  with  an  incredulous  smile,  and  a 
shrugging  of  the  shoulders ;  and  then  Therese's  very  ex- 
pressive countenance  glowed,  and  her  large,  black  eyes 
flashed  deeper  gleams. 

"  You  have  no  faith  in  me,  Josephine,"  she  said,  vehe- 
mently •,  "  but  I  repeat  to  you,  I  will  soon  obtain  my  free- 
dom, and  then  I  will  procure  your  liberty  and  that  of  your 
husband." 

"  But  how  will  you  obtain  that  ?  "  asked  Josephine,  shak- 
ing her  head. 

"  I  will  ruin  Robespierre,"  said  Therese,  graVely. 

"  In  what  do  your  means  of  ruining  him  consist  ?  " 

"  In  this  letter  here,"  said  Therese,  as  she  drew  out  of 
her  bosom  a  small  paper  folded  up.  "  See,  this  sheet  of 
paper ;  it  consists  but  of  a  few  lines  which,  since  they  would 
not  furnish  me  with  writing-materials,  I  have  written  with 
my  blood  on  this  sheet  of  paper,  which  I  found  yesterday  in 
the  garden  during  the  promenade.  The  turnkey  will  give 
this  letter  to-day  to  Tallien.  He  has  given  me  his  word, 
and  I  have  promised  him  that  Tallien  will  recompense  him 
magnificently  for  it.  This  letter  will  ruin  Robespierre  and 
make  me  free,  and  then  I  will  procure  the  freedom  of  the 
Viscount  and  of  the  Viscountess  de  Beauharnais." 

"  What  then,  in  that  letter  is  the  magic  word  which  is  to 
work  out  such  wonders  ?  " 

Therese  handed  the  paper  to  her  friend. 

"  Read,"  said  she,  smiling. 

Josephine  read :  "  Therese  of  Fontenay  to  the  citizen 


180  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Tallien.  Either  in  eight  days  I  am  free  and  the  wife  of  my 
deliverer,  the  noble  and  brave  Tallien,  who  will  have  freed 
the  world  from  the  monster  Kobespierre,  or  else,  in  eight 
days,  I  monnt  the  scaffold ;  and  my  last  thought  will  be  a 
curse  for  the  cowardly,  heartless  man  who  has  not  had  the 
courage  to  risk  his  life  for  her  he  loved,  and  who  suffers  for 
his  sake,  for  his  sake  meets  death — who  had  not  the  mind 
to  consider  that  with  daring  deed  he  must  destroy  the 
bloodthirsty  fiend  or  be  ruined  by  him.  Therese  de  Fon- 
tenay  will  ever  love  her  Tallien  if  he  delivers  her ;  she  will 
hate  him,  even  in  death,  if  he  sacrifices  her  to  Robespierre's 
blood-greediness  I " 

"If,  through  mishap,  Robespierre  should  receive  this 
letter,  then  you  and  Tallien  are  lost,"  sighed  Josephine. 

"  But  Tallien,  and  not  Robespierre,  will  receive  it,  and 
I  am  saved,"  exclaimed  Therese.  "  Therefore,  my  friend, 
take  courage  and  be  bold.  Wait  but  eight  days  patiently. 
Let  us  wait  and  hope.*' 

"  Yes,  let  us  wait  and  hope,"  sighed  Josephine.  "  Hope 
and  patience  are  the  only  companions  of  the  captive." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

DELIVERANCE. 

MEANV\rHiLE  the  patience  of  the  unfortunate  prisoners 
of  the  Carmelite  convent  were  to  be  subjected  to  a  severe 
trial ;  and  the  very  next  day  after  this  conversation  with 
Therese  de  Fontenay,  Josephine  believed  that  there  was  no 
more  hope  for  her,  that  she  was  irrevocably  lost,  as  her  hus- 
band was  lost.  For  three  days  she  had  not  seen  the  vis- 
count, nor  received  any  news  from  him.  Only  a  vague  re- 
port had  reached  her  that  the  viscount  was  no  longer  in  the 


DELIVERANCE.  181 

Carmelite  convent,  but  that  he  had  been  transferred  to  the 
Conciergerie. 

This  report  told  the  truth.  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais 
had  once  more  been  denounced,  and  this  second  accusation 
was  his  sentence  of  death.  For  some  time  past  the  fanatical 
Jacobins  had  invented  a  new  means  to  find  guilty  ones  for 
the  guillotine,  and  to  keep  the  veins  bleeding,  so  as  to 
restore  France  to  health.  They  sent  emissaries  into  the 
prisons  to  instigate  conspiracies  among  the  prisoners,  and 
to  find  out  men  wretched  enough  to  purchase  their  life  by 
accusing  their  prison  companions,  and  by  delivering  them 
over  to  the  executioner's  axe.  Such  a  spy  had  been  sent 
into  that  portion  of  the  prison  where  Beauharnais  was,  and 
he  had  begun  his  horrible  work,  for  he  had  kindled  discord 
and  strife  among  the  prisoners,  and  had  won  a  few  to  his 
sinister  projects.  But  Beauharnais's  keen  eye  had  discovered 
the  traitor,  and  he  had  loudly  and  openly  denounced  him  to 
his  fellow-prisoners.  The  next  day,  the  spy  disappeared 
from  the  prison,  but  as  he  went  he  swore  bloody  vengeance 
on  General  de  Beauharnais.* 

And  he  kept  his  word  ;  the  next  morning  De  Beauhar- 
nais was  summoned  for  trial,  and  the  gloomy,  hateful  faces 
of  his  judges,  their  hostile  questions  and  reproaches,  the 
capital  crimes  they  accused  him  of,  led  him  to  conclude  that 
his  death  was  decided  upon,  and  that  he  was  doomed  to  the 
guillotine. 

In  the  night  which  followed  his  trial,  Alexandre  de 
Beauharnais  wrote  to  his  wife  a  letter,  in  which  he  com- 
municated to  her  his  sad  forebodings,  and  bade  her  fare- 
well for  this  life.  The  next  day  he  was  transferred  to 
the  Conciergerie — that  is  to  say,  into  the  vestibule  of  the 
scaffold. 

This  letter  of  her  husband,  received  by  Josephine  the 

*  "  Memoires  du  Comte  de  Lavalette,"  vol.  i.,  p.  175. 


182  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

next  day  after  her  conversation  with  Therese  de  Fontenay, 
ran  thus : 

"  The  fourth  Thermidor,  in  the  second  year  of  the  re- 
public. All  the  signs  of  a  kind  of  trial,  to  which  I  and , 
other  prisoners  have  been  subjected  this  day,  telL  me  that  I 
am  the  victim  of  the  treacherous  calumny  of  a  few  aristocrats, 
patriots  so  called,  of  this  house.  The  mere  conjecture  that 
this  hellish  machination  will  follow  me  to  the  tribunal  of 
the  revolution  gives  me  no  hope  to  see  you  again,  my  friend, 
no  more  to  embrace  you  or  our  children.  I  speak  not  of 
my  sorrow:  my  tender  solicitude  for  you,  the  heartfelt 
affection  which  unites  me  to  you,  cannot  leave  you  in  doubt 
of  the  sentiments  with  which  I  leave  this  life. 

"  I  am  also  sorry  to  have  to  part  with  my  country,  which 
I  love,  for  which  I  would  a  thousand  times  have  laid  down 
my  life,  and  which  I  no  more  can  serve,  but  which  beholds 
me  now  quit  her  bosom,  since  she  considers  me  to  be  a  bad 
citizen.  This  heart-rending  thought  does  not  allow  me  to 
commend  my  memory  to  you ;  labor,  then,  to  make  it  pure 
in  proving  that  a  life  which  has  been  devoted  to  the  service 
of  the  country,  and  to  the  triumph  of  liberty  and  equality, 
must  punish  that  abominable  slanderer,  especially  when  he 
comes  from  a  suspicious  class  of  men.  But  this  labor  must 
be  postponed  ;  for  in  the  storms  of  revolution,  a  great 
people,  struggling  to  reduce  its  chains  to  dust,  must  of 
necessity  surround  itself  with  suspicion,  and  be  more  afraid 
to  forget  a  guilty  man  than  to  put  an  innocent  one  to 
death. 

"  I  will  die  with  that  calmness  which  allows  man  to  feel 
emotion  at  the  thought  of  his  dearest  inclinations — I  will 
die  with  that  courage  which  is  the  distinctive  feature  of  a 
free  man,  of  a  clear  conscience,  of  an  exalted  soul,  whose 
highest  wishes  are  the  prosperity  and  growth  of  the  re- 
public. 

"Farewell,  my  friend;    gather    consolation  from   my 


DELIVERANCE.  183 

children ;  derive  comfort  in  educating  them,  in  teaching 
them  that,  by  their  virtues  and  their  devotion  to  their 
country,  they  obliterate  the  memory  of  my  execution,  and 
recall  to  national  gratitude  my  services  and  my  claims. 
Farewell  to  those  I  love  :  you  know  them  !  Be  their  con- 
solation, and  through  your  solicitude  for  them  prolong  my 
life  in  their  hearts  !  Farewell !  for  the  last  time  in  this  life 
I  press  you  and  my  children  to  my  heart ! — Alexandre 
Beauharnais." 

Josephine  had  read  this  letter  with  a  thousand  tears,  but 
she  hoped  still ;  she  believed  still  in  the  possibility  that  the 
gloomy  forebodings  of  her  husband  would  not  be  realized ; 
that  some  fortunate  circumstance  would  save  him  or  at  least 
retard  his  death. 

But  this  hope  was  not  to  be  fulfilled.  A  few  hours  after" 
receiving  this  letter  the  turnkey  brought  to  the  prisoners 
the  bulletin  of  the  executions  of  the  preceding  day.  It 
was  that  day  Josephine's  turn  to  read  this  bulletin  to  her 
companions.  She  therefore  began  her  sad  task;  and,  as 
slowly  and  thoughtfully  she  let  fall  name  after  name  from 
her  lips,  here  and  there  the  faces  of  her  hearers  were 
blanched,  and  their  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

Suddenly  Josephine  uttered  a  piercing  cry,  and  sprang 
up  with  the  movement  of  madness  toward  the  door,  shook 
it  in  her  deathly  sorrow,  as  if  her  life  hung  upon  the  open- 
ing of  that  door,  and  then  she  sank  down  fainting. 

Unfortunate  Josephine  !  she  had  seen  in  the  list  of  those 
who  had  been  executed  the  name  of  General  Beauharnais, 
and  in  the  first  excitement  of  horror  she  wanted  to  rush  out 
to  see  him,  or  at  least  to  give  to  his  body  the  parting  kiss. 

On  the  sixth  Thermidor,  in  the  year  II.,  that  is,  on  the 
34th  of  July,  1794,  fell  on  the  scaffold  the  head  of  the  Gen- 
eral Viscount  de  Beauharnais.  With  quiet,  composed  cool- 
ness he  had  ascended  the  scaffold,  and  his  last  cry,  as  he  laid 
his  head  on  the  block,  was,  "  Long  live  the  republic !  " 
la 


184r  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

In  the  wagon  which  drove  him  to  the  scaffold,  he  had 
found  again  a  friend,  the  Prince  de  Salm-Kirbourg,  who 
was  now  on  his  way  to  the  guillotine,  and  who  had  risked 
his  life  in  bringing  back  to  Paris  the  children  of  Josephine. 

His  bloodthirsty  enemies  had  not  enough  of  the  head  of 
General  Beauharnais ;  his  wife's  head  also  should  fall,  and 
the  name  of  the  traitor  of  his  country  was  to  be  extin- 
guished forever. 

Two  days  after  the  execution  of  her  husband,  the  turn- 
key brought  to  Josephine  the  writ  of  her  accusation,  and 
the  summons  to  appear  before  the  tribunal  of  the  revolution 
— a  summons  which  then  had  all  the  significancy  of  a  death- 
warrant. 

Josephine  heard  the  summons  of  the  jailer  with  a  quiet, 
easy  smile ;  she  had  not  even  a  look  for  the  fatal  paper 
which  lay  on  her  bed.  Near  this  bed  stood  the  physician, 
whom  the  compassionate  republic,  which  would  not  leave 
its  prisoners  to  die  on  a  sick-bed,  but  only  on  the  scaffold, 
had  sent  to  Josephine  to  inquire  into  her  illness  and  afford 
her  relief. 

With  indignation  he  eagerly  snatched  the  paper  from 
the  bed,  and,  returning  it  back  to  the  jailer,  exclaimed : 
**Tell  the  tribunal  of  the  revolution  that  it  has  nothing 
more  to  do  with  this  woman  !  Disease  will  bring  on  justice 
here,  and  leave  nothing  to  do  for  the  guillotine.  In  eight 
days  Citoyenne  Beauharnais  is  dead  ! "  * 

This  decision  of  the  physician  was  transmitted  to  the 
tribunal,  which  resolved  that  the  trial  of  Madame  Beau- 
harnais would  be  postponed  for  eight  days,  and  that  the 
tribunal  would  wait  and  see  if  truly  death  would  save  her 
from  the  guillotine. 

Meanwhile,  during  these  eight  days,  events  were  to  pass 
which  were  to  give  a  very  different  form  to  the  state  of 

*  Aubenas,  "  Histoire  de  Tlmp^ratrice  Josephine,**  voL  L,  p.  28&> 


DELIVERANCE.  185 

things,  and  impart  to  the  young  republic  a  new,  unexpected 
attitude. 

Kobespierre  ruled  yet,  he  was  the  feared  dictator  ot 
France  !  But  Tallien  had  received  the  note  of  his  beautiful, 
fondly-loved  Therese,  and  he  swore  to  himself  that  she 
should  not  ascend  the  scaffold,  that  she  should  not  curse 
him,  that  he  would  possess  her,  that  he  would  win  her  love, 
and  destroy  the  fiend  who  stood  in  the  way  of  his  happi- 
ness, whose  blood-streaming  hands  were  every  day  ready  to 
sign  her  death-warrant. 

On  the  very  same  day  in  which  he  received  the  letter  of 
Therese,  he  conversed  with  a  few  trusty  friends,  men  whom 
he  knew  detested  Kobespierre  as  much  as  himself,  and  who 
all  longed  for  an  occasion  to  destroy  him.  They  planned  a 
scheme  of  attack  against  the  dictator  who  imperilled  the 
life  of  all,  and  from  whom  it  was  consequently  necessary  to 
take  away  life  and  power,  so  as  to  be  sure  of  one's  life.  It 
was  decided  to  launch  an  accusation  against  him  before  the 
whole  Convention,  to  incriminate  him  as  striving  after  do- 
minion, as  desirous  of  breaking  the  republic  with  his  bloody 
hands,  and  ambitious  to  exalt  himself  into  dictator  and 
sovereign.  Tallien  undertook  to  fulminate  this  accusation 
against  him,  and  they  all  agreed  to  wait  yet  a  few  days  so  as 
to  gain  amongst  the  deputies  in  the  Convention  some  mem- 
bers who  would  support  the  accusation  and  give  counte- 
nance to  the  conspirators.  On  the  ninth  Thermidor  this 
scheme  was  to  be  carried  out;  on  the  ninth  Thermidor, 
Tallien  was  to  thunder  forth  the  accusation  against  Robes- 
pierre and  move  his  punishment ! 

This  enterprise,  however,  seemed  a  folly,  an  impossibility, 
for  at  this  time  Robespierre  was  at  the  height  of  his  power, 
and  fear  weighed  upon  the  whole  republic  as  a  universal 
agony.  No  one  dared  oppose  Robespierre,  for  a  look  from 
his  eye,  a  sign  from  his  hand  sufficed  to  bring  death,  to  lead 
to  the  scaffold. 


186  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

The  calm,  peaceful,  and  united  republic  for  which 
Robespierre  had  toiled,  which  had  been  the  ultimate  end  of 
his  blood thirstiness,  was  at  last  there,  but  this  republic  was 
built  upon  corpses,  was  baptized  with  streams  of  blood  and 
tears.  And  now  that  the  republic  had  given  up  all  opposi- 
tion, now  that  she  bowed,  trembling  under  the  hand  of  her 
conqueror,  now,  Robespierre  wanted  to  make  her  happy,  he 
wanted  to  give  her  what  the  storms  of  •  past  years  had  rav- 
ished from  her — he  wanted  to  give  the  republic  a  God  I 
On  the  tribune  of  the  Convention,  on  this  tribune  which 
was  his  throne,  rose  Robespierre,  to  tell  with  grave  dignity 
to  the  republic  that  there  was  a  Supreme  Being,  that  the 
soul  of  man  was  immortal.  Then,  accompanied  by  the 
Convention,  he  proceeded  to  the  Champ  de  Mars,  to  inau- 
gurate the  celebration  of  the  worship  of  a  Supreme  Being 
as  his  high-priest.  But  amid  this  triumph,  on  his  way  to 
the  Champ  de  Mars,  Robespierre  the  conqueror  had  for  the 
first  time  noticed  the  murmurs  of  the  Tarpeian  rock ;  he 
had  noticed  the  dark,  threatening  glances  which  were  di- 
rected at  him  from  all  sides.  He  felt  the  danger  which 
menaced  him,  and  he  was  determined  to  remove  it  from  his 
person  by  annihilating  those  who  threatened. 

But  already  terror  had  lost  its  power,  no  one  trembled 
before  the  guillotine,  no  one  took  pleasure  in  the  fall  of  the 
axe,  in  the  streams  of  blood,  which  empurpled  the  Place  de 
la  Revolution.  The  fearful  stillness  of  death  hung  round 
the  guillotine,  the  people  were  tired  of  applauding  it,  and 
now  and  then  from  the  silent  ranks  of  the  people  thundered 
forth  in  threatening  accents  the  word  "  tyrant !  "  which,  as 
the  first  weapon  of  attack,  was  directed  against  Robes- 
pierre, who,  on  the  heights  of  the  tribune,  was  throned  with 
his  unmoved,  calm  countenance. 

Robespierre  felt  that  he  must  strike  a  heavy,  decisive 
blow  against  his  foes  and  annihilate  them.  On  the  eighth 
Thermidor,  he  denounced  a  plot  organized  by  his  enemies 


DELIVERANCE.  187 

for  breaking  up  the  Convention.  Through  St.  Just  he  im- 
plicated as  leaders  of  this  conspiracy  some  eminent  mem- 
bers of  the  committees,  and  requested  their  dismissal.  But 
the  time  was  past  when  his  motions  were  received  with 
jubilant  acclamations,  and  unconditionally  obeyed.  The 
Convention  decided  to  submit  the  motion  of  Robespierre  to 
a  vote,  and  the  matter  was  postponed  to  the  next  morning's 
session. 

In  the  night  which  preceded  the  contemplated  action  of 
the  Convention,  Robespierre  went  to  the  Jacobin  Club  and 
requested  assistance  against  his  enemies  in  the  Convention. 
He  was  received  with  enthusiasm,  and  a  general  uprising  of 
the  revolutionary  element  was  decided  upon,  and  organized 
for  the  following  morning. 

The  same  night,  Tallien,  his  friends  and  adherents,  met 
together,  and  the  mode  of  attack  for  the  following  day,  the 
ninth  Thermidor,  was  discussed,  and  the  parts  assigned  to 
each. 

The  prisoners  in  the  Carmelite  convent  did  not  of  course 
suspect  any  thing  of  the  events  which  were  preparing  be- 
yond the  walls  of  their  prison.  Even  Therese  de  Fontenay 
was  low-spirited  and  sad  ;  for  this  day,  the  ninth  Thermidor, 
was  the  last  day  of  respite  fixed  by  her  to  Tallien  for  her 
liberty. 

This  was  also  the  last  day  of  respite  which  had  saved 
Josephine  from  the  tribunal  of  the  revolution,  through  the 
decision  of  her  physician.  Death  had  spared  her  head,  but 
now  it  belonged  to  the  executioner.  The  captives  feared 
the  event,  and  they  were  confirmed  in  this  fear  by  the  jailer, 
who,  on  the  morning  of  the  ninth  Thermidor,  entered  the 
room  which  Josephine,  the  Duchess  d'Aiguillon,  and  Therese 
de  Fontenay  occupied,  and  who  removed  the  camp-bed 
which  Josephine  had  hitherto  used  as  a  sofa,  to  give  it  to 
another  prisoner. 

"  How,"  exclaimed  the  Duchess  d'Aiguillon,  "  do  you 


188  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

want  to  give  this  bed  to  another  prisoner  ?  Is  Madame  de 
Beauharnais  to  have  a  better  one  ?  " 

The  turnkey  burst  into  a  coarse  laugh.  "  Alas !  no," 
said  he,  with  a  significant  gesture,  "  Citoyenne  Beauharnais 
will  soon  need  a  bed  no  more." 

Her  friends  broke  into  tears ;  but  Josephine  remained 
composed  and,  quiet.  At  this  decisive  moment  a  fearful 
self-possession  and  calmness  came  over  her ;  all  sufferings 
and  sorrow  appeared  to  have  sunk  away,  all  anxiety  and  care 
seemed  overcome,  and  a  radiant  smile  illumined  Josephine's 
features,  for,  through  a  wondrous  association  of  ideas,  she 
suddenly  remembered  the  prophecy  of  the  negro-woman  in 
Martinique. 

"  Be  calm,  my  friends,"  said  she,  smiling ;  "  weep  not, 
do  not  consider  me  as  destined  to  the  scaffold,  for  I  assure 
you  I  am  going  to  live :  I  must  not  die,  for  I  am  destined 
to  be  one  day  the  sovereign  of  France.  Therefore,  no  more 
tears !    I  am  the  future  Queen  of  France ! " 

"  Ah  ! "  exclaimed  the  Duchess  d'Aiguillon,  half  angry 
and  half  sad,  "  why  not  at  once  appoint  your  state  digni- 
taries?" 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Josephine,  eagerly ;  "  this  is  the  best 
time  to  do  so.  Well,  then,  my  dear  duchess,  I  now  appoint 
you  to  be  my  maid  of  honor,  and  I  swear  it  will  be  so." 

"  My  God !  she  is  mad ! "  exclaimed  the  duchess,  and, 
nearly  fainting,  she  sank  upon  her  chair. 

Josephine  laughed,  and  opened  the  window  to  admit 
some  fresh  air.  She  perceived  there  below  in  the  street  a 
woman  making  to  her  all  manner  of  signs  and  gestures. 
She  lifted  up  her  arms,  she  then  took  hold  of  her  dress,  and 
with  her  hand  pointed  to  her  robe. 

It  was  evident  that  she  wished  through  these  signs  and 
motions  to  convey  some  word  to  the  prisoners,  whom  per- 
haps she  knew,  for  she  repeatedly  took  hold  of  her  robe 
with  one  hand,  and  pointed  at  it  with  the  other. 


DELIVERANCE.  189 

"  Robe  ?  "  cried  out  Josephine  interrogatively. 

The  woman  nodded  in  the  affirmative,  then  took  up  a 
stone,  which  she  held  up  to  the  prisoner's  view. 

"  Pierre  ?  "  ask  Josephine. 

The  woman  again  nodded  in  the  affirmative,  and  then 
placed  the  stone  (pierre)  in  her  robe,  made  several  times 
the  motion  of  falling,  then  of  cutting  off  the  neck,  and  then 
danced  and  clapped  her  hands. 

"My  friends,"  cried  Josephine,  struck  with  a  sudden 
thought,  "  this  woman  brings  us  good  news,  she  tells  us 
Robespierre  est  tornhV     (Robespierre  has  fallen.) 

"  Yes,  it  is  so,"  exclaimed  Therese,  triumphantly ;  "  Tal- 
lien  has  kept  his  word  ;  he  conquers,  and  Robespierre  is 
thrust  down  ! " 

And,  overpowered  with  joy  and  emotion,  the  three 
women,  weeping,  sank  into  each  other's  arms. 

They  now  heard  from  without  loud  cries  and  shouts. 
It  was  the  jailer,  quarrelling  with  his  refractory  dog.  The 
dog  howled,  and  wanted  to  go  out  with  his  master,  but  the 
jailer  kicked  him  back,  saying :  "  Away,  go  to  the  accursed 
Robespierre ! " 

Soon  joyous  voices  resounded  through  the  corridor ;  the 
door  of  their  cell  was  violently  opened,  and  a  few  municipal 
officers  entered  to  announce  to  the  Citizeness  Madame 
Fontenay  that  she  was  free,  and  bade  her  accompany  them 
into  the  carriage  waiting  below  to  drive  her  to  the  house  of 
Citizen  Tallien.  Behind  them  pressed  the  prisoners  who, 
from  the  reception-room,  had  followed  the  authorities,  to 
entreat  them  to  give  them  the  news  of  the  events  in  Paris. 

There  was  now  no  reason  for  the  municipal  authorities 
to  make  a  secret  of  the  events  which  at  this  hour  occupied 
all  Paris,  and  which  would  soon  be  welcomed  throughout 
France  as  the  morning  dawn  of  a  new  day. 

Robespierre  had  indeed  fallen  !  Tallien  and  his  friends 
had  in  the  Convention  brought  against  the  despot  the  accu- 


190    '  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

sation  that  he  was  striving  for  the  sovereign  power,  and  that 
he  had  enthroned  a  Supreme  Being  merely  to  proclaim  him- 
self afterward  His  visible  representative,  and  to  take  all 
power  in  his  own  hands.  When  Robespierre  had  endeavored 
to  justify  himself,  he  had  been  dragged  away  from  the 
speaker's  tribune;  and,  as  he  defended  himself,  Tallien 
had  drawn  a  dagger  on  Robespierre,  and  was  prevented 
from  killing  the  tyrant  by  a  few  friends,  who  by  main  force 
turned  the  dagger  away.  Immediately  after  this  scene,  the 
Convention  decided  to  arrest  Robespierre  and  his  friends 
Couthon  and  St.  Just;  and  the  prisoners,  among  whom 
Robespierre's  younger  brother  had  willingly  placed  himself, 
were  led  away  to  the  Luxemburg.* 

The  prisoners  welcomed  this  news  with  delight;  for 
with  the  fall  of  Robespierre,  had  probably  sounded  for  them 
the  hour  of  deliverance,  and  they  could  hope  that  their 
prison's  door  would  soon  be  opened,  not  to  be  led  to  the 
scaffold,  but  to  obtain  their  freedom. 

Therese  de  Fontenay,  with  the  messengers  sent  by  Tal- 
lien, left  the  Carmelite  cloisters  to  fulfil  the  promise  made 
by  her  to  Tallien  in  her  letter,  to  become  his  wife,  and  to 
pass  at  his  side  new  days  of  happiness  and  love. 

She  embraced  Josephine  tenderly  as  she  bade  her  fare- 
well, and  renewed  to  her  the  assurance  that  she  would  con- 
sider it  her  dearest  and  most  sacred  duty  to  obtain  her 
friend's  liberty. 

In  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  Josephine's  camp-bed 
was  restored  to  her;  and,  stretching  herself  upon  it  with 
intense  delight,  she  said  smilingly  to  her  friends :  "  You 
see,  I  am  not  yet  guillotined ;  I  will  be  Queen  of  France."  f 

*  The  next  day,  on  the  tenth  Thermidor,  Robespierre,  \?ho  in  the 
night  had  attempted  to  put  an  end  to  his  life  with  a  pistol,  was  exe- 
cuted with  twenty-one  companions.  His  brother  was  among  the  num- 
ber of  the  executed. 

t  "  M^moires  sur  I'lmperatrice  Josephine,"  eh.  xxxiii. 


DELIVERANCE.  191 

Therese  de  Fontenay,  now  Citoyenne  Tallien,  kept  her 
word.  Three  days  after  obtaining  her  liberty,  she  came 
herself  to  fetch  Josephine  out  of  prison.  Her  soft,  mild 
disposition  had  resumed  its  old  spell  over  Tallien,  whom 
the  Convention  had  appointed  president  of  the  Committee 
of  Safety.  The  death-warrants  signed  by  Eobespierre  were 
annulled,  and  the  prisons  were  opened,  to  restore  to  hun- 
dreds of  accused  life  and  liberty.  The  bloody  and  tearful 
episode  of  the  revolution  had  closed  with  the  fall  of  Eobes- 
pierre, and  on  the  ninth  Thermidor  the  republic  assumed  a 
new  phase. 

Josephine  was  free  once  more  !  With  tears  of  bliss  she 
embraced  her  two  children,  her  dear  darlings,  found  again ! 
In  pressing  her  offspring  to  her  heart  with  deep,  holy  emotion, 
she  thought  of  their  father,  who  had  loved  them  both  so 
much,  who  had  committed  to  her  the  sacred  trust  of  keeping 
alive  in  the  hearts  of  his  children  love  for  their  father. 

Encircling  still  her  children  in  her  arms,  she  bowed  them 
on  their  knees ;  and,  lifting  up  to  heaven  her  eyes,  moist 
with  tears,  she  whispered  to  them :  "  Let  us  pray,  children ; 
let  us  lift  up  our  thoughts  to  heaven,  where  your  father  is, 
and  whence  he  looks  down  upon  us  to  bless  his  children." 

Josephine  delayed  not  much  longer  in  Paris,  where  the 
air  was  yet  damp  with  the  blood  of  so  many  murdered  ones ; 
where  the  guillotine,  on  which  her  husband  had  died,  lifted 
yet  its  threatening  head.  She  hastened  with  her  children 
to  Fontainebleau,  there  to  rest  from  her  sorrows  on  the 
heart  of  her  father-in-law,  to  weep  with  him  on  the  loss  they 
both  had  suffered. 

The  dream  of  her  first  youth  and  of  her  first  love  had 
passed  away,  and  to  the  father  of  her  beheaded  husband 
Josephine  returned  a  widow ;  rich  in  gloomy,  painful  expe- 
riences, poor  in  hopes,  but  with  a  stout  heart,  and  a  deter- 
mination to  live,  and  to  be  at  once  a  father  and  a  mother  to 
her  children. 


BOOK  n. 

THE  WIFE  OF  GENERAL  BONAPARTE. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

BONAPABTE   lis   CORSICA. 

The  civil  war  which  for  four  years  had  devastated  France 
had  %lso  with  its  destruction  and  its  terrors  overspread  the 
French  colonies,  and  in  Martinique  as  well  as  in  Corsica  two 
parties  stood  opposed  to  each  other  in  infuriated  bitterness 
— one  fighting  for  the  rights  of  the  native  land,  the  other 
for  the  rights  of  the  French  people,  for  the  "  liberty,  equal- 
ity, and  fraternity"  which  the  Convention  in  Paris  had 
adopted  for  its  motto,  since  it  delivered  to  the  guillotine,  on 
the  Place  de  la  Revolution^  the  heads  of  those  who  dared 
lay  claim  for  themselves  to  this  liberty  of  thought  so  sol- 
emnly proclaimed. 

In  Corsica  both  parties  fought  with  the  same  eagerness 
as  in  France,  and  the  execution  of  Louis  XVI.  had  only 
made  the  contest  more  violent  and  more  bitter. 

One  of  these  parties  looked  with  horror  on  this  guillotine 
which  had  drunk  the  blood  of  the  king,  and  this  party  de- 
sired to  have  nothing  in  common  with  this  French  repub- 
lic, with  this  blood-streaming  Convention  which  had  made 
of  terror  a  law,  and  which  had  destroyed  so  many  lives  in 
the  name  of  liberty. 

At  the  head  of  this  party  stood  the  General  Pascal  Paoli, 
whom  the  revolution  had  recalled  to  his  native  isle  from  his 
exile  of  twenty  years,  and  who  objected  that  Corsica  should 


BONAPARTE  IN  CORSICA.  193 

bend  obediently  under  the  blood-stained  hand  of  the  French 
Convention,  and  whose  wish  it  was  that  the  isle  should  be 
an  independent  province  of  the  great  French  republic. 

To  exalt  Corsica  into  a  free,  independent  republic  had 
been  the  idea  of  his  whole  life.  For  the  sake  of  this  idea 
he  had  passed  twenty  years  in  exile  ;  for,  after  having  made 
Corsica  independent  of  Genoa,  he  had  not  been  able  to  ob- 
tain for  his  native  isle  that  independence  for  which  he  had 
fought  with  his  brave  Genoese  troops.  During  eight  years 
he  had  perseveringly  maintained  the  conflict — during  eight 
years  he  had  been  the  ruler  of  Corsica,  but  immovable  in 
his  republican  principles ;  he  had  rejected  the  title  of  king, 
which  the  Corsican  people,  grateful  for  the  services  ren- 
dered to  their  fatherland,  had  offered  him.  He  had  been 
satisfied  to  be  the  first  and  most  zealous  servant  of  the 
island,  which,  through  his  efforts,  had  been  liberated  from 
the  tyrannical  dominion  of  Genoa.  But  Genoa's  appeal  for 
assistance  had  brought  French  troops  to  Corsica ;  the  Gen- 
oese, harassed  and  defeated  everywhere  by  Paoli's  brave 
troops,  had  finally  transferred  the  island  to  France.  This 
was  not  what  Paoli  wanted — this  was  not  for  what  he  had 
fought  I 

Corsica  was  to  be  a  free  and  independent  republic ;  she 
was  to  bow  no  more  to  France  than  to  Genoa ;  Corsica. was 
to  be  free. 

In  vain  did  the  French  government  make  to  General 
Paoli  the  most  brilliant  offers ;  he  rejected  them ;  he  called 
the  Corsicans  to  the  most  energetic  resistance  to  the  French 
occupation ;  and  when  he  saw  that  opposition  was  in  vain, 
that  Corsica  had  to  submit,  he  at  least  would  not  yield,  and 
he  went  to  England. 

The  cry  for  liberty  which,  in  the  year  1790,  resounded 
from  France,  and  which  made  the  whole  world  tremble, 
brought  him  back  from  England  to  Corsica,  and  he  took 
the  oath  of  allegiance  to  free,  democratic  France.     But  the 


194  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

blood  of  the  king  had  annulled  this  oath,  the  Convention's 
reign  of  terror  had  filled  his  soul  with  horror ;  and,  after 
•  solemnly  separating  himself  from  France,  he  had,  in  the 
year  1793,  convoked  a  ConsuUa,  to  decide  whether  Corsica 
was  to  submit  to  the  despotism  of  the  French  republic,  or 
if  it  was  to  be  a  free  and  independent  state.  The  ConsuUa 
chose  the  latter  position,  and  named  Paoli  for  president  as 
well  as  for  general-in-chief  of  the  Corsicans. 

The  National  Convention  at  once  called  the  culprit  to 
its  bar,  and  ordered  him  to  Paris  to  justify  his  conduct,  or 
to  receive  the  punishment  due.  But  General  Paoli  paid  no 
attention  to  the  imperious  orders  of  the  Convention,  which, 
as  the  chief  appeared  not  at  its  bar,  declared  him,  on  the 
15th  of  May,  1793,  a  traitor  to  his  country,  and  sent  com- 
missioners to  Corsica  to  arrest  the  criminal. 

This  traitor  to  the  state,  the  General  Pascal  Paoli,  was 
then  at  the  head  of  the  Moderate  party  in  Corsica,  and  he 
loudly  and  solemnly  declared  that,  in  case  of  absolute  neces- 
sity, it  would  be  preferable  to  call  England  to  their  assist- 
ance than  to  accept  the  yoke  of  the  French  republic,  which 
had  desecrated  her  liberty,  since  she  had  soiled  it  with  the 
blood  of  so  many  innocent  victims. 

But  in  opposition  to  General  Paoli  rose  up  with  wild 
clamor  the  other  party,  the  party  of  young,  enthusiastic 
heads,  who  were  intoxicated  with  the  democratic  ideas  which 
had  obtained  the  sway  in  France,  and  which  they  imagined, 
80  great  was  their  impassioned  devotedness  to  them,  pos- 
sessed the  power  and  the  ability  to  conquer  the  whole  world. 

At  the  head  of  this  second  party,  which  claimed  uncon- 
ditional adherence  to  France,  to  the  members  of  the  Con- 
vention— at  the  head  of  this  fanatical,  Corsican,  republican, 
and  Jacobin  party,  stood  the  Bonaparte  family,  and  above 
them  all  the  two  brothers  Joseph  and  Napoleon. 

Joseph  was  now,  in  the  year  1793,  chief  justice  of  the 
tribunal  of  Ajaccio ;  Napoleon,  who  was  captain  of  artillery 


BONAPARTE  IN  CORSICA.  195 

in  the  French  army  of  Italy,  had  then  obtained  leave  of 
absence  to  visit  his  family.  Both  brothers  had  been  hitherto 
the  most  affectionate  and  intimate  admirers  of  Paoli,  and 
especially  Napoleon,  who,  from  his  earliest  childhood,  had 
cherished  the  most  unbounded  admiration  for  the  patriot 
who  preferred  exile  to  a  dependent  grandeur  in  Corsica. 
Even  now,  since  Paoli's  return  to  Corsica,  and  Napoleon 
had  had  many  opportunities  to  see  him,  his  admiration  for 
the  great  chief  had  lost  nothing  of  its  force  or  vitality.  Paoli 
seemed  sincerely  to  return  this  inclination  of  Napoleon  and 
of  his  brother,  and  in  the  long  evening  walks,  which  both 
brothers  made  with  him,  Napoleon's  mind  opened  itself, 
before  his  old,  experienced  companion,  the  great  general, 
the  noble  republican,  with  a  freedom  and  a  candor  such  as 
he  had  never  manifested  to  others.  With  subdued  admira- 
tion Paoli  listened  to  his  short,  energetic  explanations,  to 
his  descriptions,  to  his  war-schemes,  to  his  warm  enthusiasm 
for  the  republic ;  and  one  day,  carried  away  by  the  warmth 
of  the  young  captain  of  artillery,  the  general,  fixing  his 
glowing  eyes  upon  him,  exclaimed :  "  Young  man,  you  are 
modelled  after  the  antique ;  you  belong  to  Plutarch ! " 

"  And  to  General  Paoli !  "  replied  Napoleon,  eagerly,  as 
he  pressed  his  friend's  hand  affectionately  in  his  own. 

But  now  this  harmonious  concord  between  General  Paoli 
and  the  young  men  was  destroyed  by  the  passion  of  party 
views.  Joseph  as  well  as  Napoleon  belonged  to  the  French 
party ;  they  soon  became  its  leaders ;  they  were  at  the  head 
of  the  club  which  they  had  organized  according  to  the 
maxims  and  principles  of  the  Jacobin  Club  in  Paris,  and  to 
which  they  gave  the  same  name. 

In  this  Jacobin  Club  at  Ajaccio  Napoleon  made  speeches 
full  of  glowing  enthusiasm  for  the  French  republic,  for  the 
ideas  of  freedom ;  in  this  club  he  enjoined  on  the  people  of 
Corsica  to  adhere  loyally  to  France,  to  keep  fast  and  to  de- 
fend with  life  and  blood  the  acouired  liberty  ot  republican 


196  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

France,  to  regard  and  drive  away  as  traitors  to  their  country 
all  those  who  dared  guide  the  Corsican  people  on  another 
track. 

But  the  Corsican  people  were  not  there  to  hear  the  en- 
thusiastic speeches  about  liberty  and  to  follow  them.  Only 
a  few  hundred  ardent  republicans  of  the  same  sentiment 
applauded  the  republican  Napoleon,  and  cried  aloud  that 
the  republic  must  be  defended  with  blood  and  life.  The 
majority  of  the  Corsican  people  flocked  to  Paoli,  and  the 
commissioners  sent  by  the  Convention  from  Paris  to  Corsica, 
to  depose  and  arrest  Paoli,  found  co-operation  and  assistance 
only  among  the  inhabitants  of  the  cities  and  among  the 
French  troops.  Paoli,  the  president  of  the  ConsuUa,  was 
located  at  Cort6 ;  the  messengers  of  the  Convention  gathered 
in  Bastia  the  adherents  of  France,  and  excited  them  to 
strenuous  efforts  against  the  rebellious  Consulta  and  the 
insurgent  Paoli. 

Civil  war  with  all  its  horrors  was  there ;  the  raging  con- 
flicts of  the  parties  tore  apart  the  holy  bonds  of  family, 
friendship,  and  love*.  Brother  fought  and  argued  against 
brother,  friend  rose  up  against  friend,  and  whole  families 
were  destroyed,  rent  asunder  by  the  impassioned  rivalries  of 
sentiment  and  partisanship.  Denunciations  and  accusations, 
suspicions  and  enmities,  followed.  Every  one  trembled  at 
his  own  shadow ;  and,  to  turn  aside  the  peril  of  death,  it 
was  necessary  to  strike.* 

The  Bonaparte  brothers  opposed  General  Paoli  with 
yiolent  bitterness ;  bloody  conflicts  took  place,  in  which  the 
national  Corsican  party  remained  victorious.  Irritated  and 
embittered  by  the  opposition  which  some  of  the  natives 
themselves  were  making  to  his  patriotic  efforts,  Paoli  perse- 
cuted with  zealous  activity  the  conquered,  whom  he  resolved 
to  destroy,  that  they  might  not  imperil  the  young  Corsican 

•  "  M^moires  da  Roi  Joseph,"  vol.  i.,  p.  51. 


BONAPARTE  IN  CORSICA.  197 

independence.  Joseph  and  Napoleon  Bonaparte  were  the 
leaders  of  this  party,  and  Paoli  knew  too  well  the  energy 
and  the  intellectual  superiority  of  Napoleon  not  to  dread 
his  influence.  Him,  above  all  things,  him  and  his  family, 
must  he  render  harmless,  so  as  to  weaken  and  to  intimidate 
the  French  party.  He  sent  agents  to  Ajaccio,  to  arrest  the 
whole  Bonaparte  family,  and  at  the  same  time  his  troops 
approached  the  town  to  occupy  it  and  make  the  French 
commissioners  prisoners.  But  these  latter,  informed  in  time 
of  the  danger,  had  gained  time  and  saved  themselves  on 
board  the  French  frigate  lying  in  the  harbor,  and  with  them 
the  whole  Bonaparte  family  had  embarked.  Napoleon,  on 
whom  the  attention  of  Paoli's  agents  had  been  specially  di- 
/ected,  was  more  than  once  in  danger  of  being  seized  by 
them,  and  it  was  due  to  the  advice  of  a  friend  that,  disguised 
as  a  sailor,  he  saved  himself  in  time  on  board  the  French 
frigate  and  joined  his  family."  *  The  commissioners  of  the 
Convention  at  once  ordered  the  anchor  to  be  weighed,  and 
to  steer  toward  France. 

This  frigate,  on  board  of  which  the  Bonaparte  family  in 
its  flight  had  embarked,  carried  to  France  the  future  em- 
peror and  his  fortune. 

The  house,  the  possessions  of  the  Bonaparte  family,  fell 
a  prey  to  the  conquerors,  and  on  them  they  gave  vent  to 
their  vengeance  for  the  successful  escape  of  the  fugitives. 
A  witness  of  these  facts  is  a  certificate  which  Joseph  Bona- 
parte a  few  months  later  procured  from  Corsica,  and  which 
ran  as  follows : 

"  I,  the  undersigned,  Louis  Conti,  procurator-syndic  of 
the  district  of  Ajaccio,  department  of  Corsica,  declare  and 
certify :  in  the  month  of  May  of  this  year,  when  General 
Paoli  and  the  administration  of  the  department  had  sent 
into  the  city  of  Ajaccio  armed  troops,  in  concert  with  other 

*  "M6moires  de  la  Duchess  d'Abrantes,"  vol.  i. 


198  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

traitors  in  the  city,  took  possession  of  the  fortress,  drove 
away  the  administration  of  the  district,  incarcerated  a  large 
portion  of  the  patriots,  disarmed  the  republican  forces,  and, 
when  these  refused  to  give  up  the  commissioners  of  the  Na- 
tional Convention,  Paoli's  troops  fired  upon  the  vessel  which 
carried  these  commissioners : 

"  That  these  rebels  endeavored  to  seize  the  Bonaparte 
family,  which  had  the  good  fortune  to  elude  their  pursuit : 

"  That  they  destroyed,  plundered,  and  burnt  every  thing 
which  belonged  to  this  family,  whose  sole  crime  consisted 
in  their  unswerving  fidelity  to  the  republicans,  and  in  their 
refusal  to  take  any  part  in  the  scheme  of  isolation,  rebellion, 
and  disloyalty,  of  which  Paoli  and  the  administration  of  the 
department  had  become  guilty. 

"  I  moreover  declare  and  certify  that  this  family,  con- 
sisting of  ten  individuals,  and  who  stood  high  in  the  esteem 
of  the  people  of  the  island,  possessed  the  largest  property  in 
the  whole  department,  and  that  now  they  are  on  the  conti- 
nent of  the  republic. 

"  (Signed)  Conti,  Proc.-Synd.  Delivered  on  the  5th  of 
September,  1793,  Year  II.  of  the  republic."  * 

Paoli,  the  conqueror  of  the  French  republic,  the  patri- 
otic enemy  of  the  Bonaparte  family,  drove  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte from  his  native  soil !  The  cannon  of  the  Corsican 
patriots  fired  upon  the  ship  on  which  the  future  emperor  of 
the  French  was  steering  toward  his  future  empire  ! 

But  this  future  lay  still  in  an  invisible,  cloudy  distance 
— of  one  thing,  however,  was  the  young  captain  of  artillery 
fully  conscious :  from  this  hour  he  had  broken  with  the- 
past,  and,  by  his  dangers  and  conflicts,  by  the  sacrifice  of  his 
family's  property,  by  his  flight  from  Corsica,  given  to  the 
world  a  solemn  testimony  that  he  recognized  no  other  coun- 
try, that  he  owed  allegiance  to  no  other  nation  than  to 

*  "  M dmoires  du  Roi  Joseph,"  vol.  i.,  p.  52. 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE  BEFORE  TOULON.   199 

France.    He  had  proved  that  his  feelings  were  not  Corsican, 
but  French. 

The  days  of  his  childhood  and  youth  sank  away  behind 
him,  with  the  deepening  shadows  of  the  island  of  Corsica, 
and  the  shores  which  rose  before  him  on  the  horizon  were 
the  shores  of  France.     There  lay  his  future — his  empire  I 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE  BEFORE  TOULON. 

Whilst  Paris,  yet  trembling,  bowed  under  the  bloody 
rule  of  the  Convention,  a  spirit  of  opposition  and  horror 
began  to  stir  in  the  provinces ;  fear  of  the  terrorists,  of  the 
Convention,  began  to  kindle  the  courage,  to  make  defiance 
to  these  men  of  horror,  and  to  put  an  end  to  terrorism. 
The  province  of  Vendee,  in  her  faithfulness  and  loyalty  to 
the  royal  family,  arose  in  deadly  conflict  against  the  repub- 
licans ;  the  large  cities  of  the  south,  with  Toulon  at  their 
head,  had  shielded  themselves  from  the  horrors  which  the 
home  government  would  have  brought  them,  by  uniting  with 
the  enemies  who  now  from  all  sides  pressed  upon  France. 

Toulon  gave  itself  up  to  the  combined  fleet  of  England 
and  Spain.  Marseilles,  Lyons,  and  Nismes,  contracted  an 
alliance  together,  and  declared  their  independence  of  the 
Convention  and  of  the  terrorists.  Everywhere  in  all  the 
cities  and  communities  of  the  south  the  people  rose  up, 
and  seditions  and  rebellions  took  place.  Everywhere  the 
Convention  had  to  send  its  troops  to  re-establish  peace  by 
force,  and  to  compel  the  people  to  submit  to  its  rule. 
Whole  army  corps  had  to  be  raised  to  win  back  to  the  re- 
public the  rebellious  cities,  and  only  after  hard  flghting  did 
General  Carteaux  subdue  Marseilles. 
14 


200  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

But  Toulon  held  out  still,  and  within  its  protecting 
walls  had  the  majority  of  the  inhabitants  of  Marseilles 
taken  refuge  before  the  wrath  of  the  Convention,  which 
had  already  sent  to  the  latter  some  of  its  representatives, 
to  establish  there  the  destructive  work  of  the  guillotine. 
Toulon  offered  them  safety  ;  it  seemed  impregnable,  as 
much  by  its  situation  as  by  the  number  and  strength  of 
its  defenders.  It  could  also  defy  any  siege,  since  the  sea 
was  open,  and  it  could  by  this  channel  be  provisioned 
through  the  English  and  Spanish  fleet. 

No  one  trembled  before  the  little  army  of  seventeen 
thousand  men  which,  under  General  Carteaux,  had  invest- 
ed Toulon. 

But  in  this  little  army  of  the  republicans  was  a  young 
soldier  whom  yet  none  knew,  none  feared,  but  whose  fame 
was  soon  to  resound  throughout  the  world,  and  before  whom 
all  Europe  was  soon  tremblingly  to  bow. 

This  young  man  was  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  the  captain 
of  artillery.  He  had  come  from  Italy  (where  his  regiment 
was)  to  France,  to  make  there,  by  order  of  his  general,  some 
purchases  for  the  park  of  artillery  of  the  Italian  army.  But 
some  of  the  people's  representatives  had  had  an  opportunity 
of  recognizing  the  sharp  eye  and  the  military  acquirements 
of  the  young  captain  of  artillery ;  they  interceded  in  his 
favor,  and  he  was  promoted  to  the  army  corps  which  was 
before  Toulon,  and  at  once  sent  in  the  capacity  of  assistant 
to  General  Carteaux,  with  whom  also  was  Napoleon's  broth- 
er Joseph,  as  chief  of  the  general's  staff. 

From  this  moment  the  siege,  which  until  now  had  not 
progressed  favorably,  was  pushed  on  with  renewed  energy, 
and  it  was  due  to  the  cautious  activity,  the  daring  spirit  of 
the  captain  of  artillery,  that  marked  advantages  were  gained 
over  the  English,  and  that  from  them  many  redoubts  were 
taken,  and  the  lines  of  the  French  drawn  closer  and  closer 
to  the  besieged  city. 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE  BEFORE  TOULON.  ^201 

But  yet,  after  many  months  of  siege,  Toulon  held  out 
still.  From  the  sea  came  provisions  and  ammunition,  and 
on  the  land-side  Toulon  was  protected  against  capture  by  a 
fort  occupied  by  English  troops,  and  which,  on  account  of 
its  impregnable  position,  was  called  "  Little  Gibraltar." 
From  this  position  hot-balls  and  howitzers  had  free  range 
all  over  the  seaboard,  for  this  fort  stood  between  the  two 
harbors  of  the  city  and  immediately  opposite  Toulon.  The 
English,  fully  appreciating  the  importance  of  the  position, 
had  occupied  it  with  six  thousand  men,  and  surrounded  it 
with  intrenchments. 

It  came  to  this,  as  Napoleon  in  a  council  of  war  de- 
clared to  the  general,  that  the  English  must  be  driven  out 
of  their  position ;  then,  when  this  fort  was  taken,  in  tw<? 
days  Toulon  must  yield. 

The  plan  was  decided  upon,  and  from  this  moment  the 
besiegers  directed  all  their  strength  no  more  against  Toulon, 
but  against  the  important  fort,  "  Little  Gibraltar,"  "  for 
there,"  as  Napoleon  said,  "  there  was  the  key  to  Toulon." 

All  Europe  now  watched  with  intense  anxiety  the  events 
near  Toulon  ;  all  France,  which  hitherto  with  divided  senti- 
'nents  had  wished  the  victory  to  side  now  with  the  besieged, 
now  with  the  besiegers,  forgot  its  differences  of  opinion,  and 
was  united  in  the  one  wish  to  expel  the  hated  enemy  and 
rival,  the  English,  from  the  French  city,  and  to  crown  the 
efforts  of  the  French  army  with  victory. 

The  Convention,  irritated  that  its  orders  should  not 
have  been  immediately  carried  out,  had  in  its  despotic 
power  recalled  from  his  command  General  Carteaux,  who 
could  not  succeed  in  capturing  Toulon,  and  had  appointed 
as  chief  of  battalion  the  young  captain  of  artillery,  Napo- 
leon Bonaparte,  on  account  of  his  bravery  in  capturing 
some  dangerous  redoubts.  The  successor  of  Carteaux,  the 
old  General  Dugommier,  recognizing  the  superior  mind  of 
the  young  chief  of  battalion,  willingly  followed  his  plans, 


202  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

and  was  readily  guided  and  led  by  the  surer  insight  of  the 
young  man. 

The  position  of  new  Gibraltar  had  to  be  conquered  so  as 
to  secure  the  fall  of  Toulon ;  such  was,  such  remained  Na- 
poleon's unswerving  judgment.  No  effort,  no  cost,  no 
blood,  was  to  be  spared  to  attain  this  result.  He  placed  new 
batteries  against  the  fort ;  stormed  the  forts  Malbosquet  and 
Bonge;  a  terrible  struggle  ensued,  in  which  the  English 
General  O'Hara  was  taken  prisoner  by  the  French,  and  the 
English  had  to  leave  the  fort  and  retreat  into  the  city. 

The  first  great  advantage  was  won,  but  Little  Gibraltar 
remained  still  in  the  hands  of  the  English,  and  Napoleon 
desired,  and  felt  it  as  an  obligation,  to  subdue  it  at  any  price. 

But  already  the  Convention  began  to  be  discouraged, 
and  to  lose  energy,  and  the  deputies  of  the  people,  Barras 
and  Freron,  who  until  now  had  remained  with  the  besieg- 
ing army,  hastened  to  Paris  to  implore  the  Convention  to 
give  up  the  siege,  and  to  recall  the  army  from  Toulon. 

But  before  they  reached  Paris  the  matter  was  to  be  de- 
cided before  Toulon.  The  fate  of  the  Little  Gibraltar  was 
to  be  fulfilled ;  it  was  to  be  taken,  or  in  the  storming  of  it 
the  French  army  was  to  perish. 

Thousands  of  shells  were  thrown  into  the  fort,  thirty 
cannon  thundered  against  it.  Napoleon  Bonaparte  mixed 
with  the  artillerymen,  encouraged  by  his  bold  words  their 
activity,  their  energy,  and  their  bravery,  and  pointed  to 
them  the  spots  where  to  direct  their  balls.  Whilst  he  was 
in  conversation  with  one  of  the  cannoneers  near  whom  he 
stood,  a  cannon-ball  from  the  English  tore  away  the  head 
of  the  artilleryman  who  had  just  lifted  up  the  match  to  fire 
his  cannon. 

Napoleon  quietly  took  up  the  burning  match  out  of  the- 
hand  of  the  dead  man,  and  discharged  the  gun.  Then,  with 
all  the  zeal  and  tact  of  an  experienced  cannoneer,  he  began 
to  load  the  piece,  to  send  forth  its  balls  against  the  enemy : 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE  BEFORE  TOULON.   203 

and  for  many  hours  he  remained  at  this  post,  until  another 
artilleryman  was  found  to  relieve  the  chief  of  division.* 

But  whilst  Napoleon  made  himself  a  cannoneer  in  the 
service  of  his  country,  he  remained  at  the  same  time  the 
chief  of  division,  whose  attention  was  everywhere,  whose 
eagle  glance  nothing  escaped,  and  who  knew  how  to  improve 
every  advantage. 

A  body  of  troops  was  at  a  distant  point,  and  Bonaparte 
wanted  to  send  them  an  important  order.  Whilst  loading 
his  cannon,  he  called  aloud  to  an  under-of&cer  to  whom  he 
might  dictate  the  dispatch.  A  young  man  hastened  to  the 
call,  and  said  he  was  ready  to  write.  Upon  a  mound  of 
sand  he  unfolded  his  pocket-book,  drew  out  of  it  a  piece  of 
paper,  and  began  to  write  what  Napoleon,  with  a  voice  above 
the  cannon's  roar,  was  dictating  to  him.  At  this  very  mo- 
ment, as  the  order  was  written,  a  cannon-ball  fell  quite  near 
the  officer,  burrowing  the  ground,  and  scattering  some  of  the 
light  sand  over  the  written  paper.  The  young  man  raised 
his  hat  and  made  a  bow  to  the  cannon-ball,  that  buried  itself 
in  the  sand. 

*  This  brave  action  of  Napoleon  was  to  have  for  him  evil  results. 
The  cannoneer,  from  whose  hand  he  took  the  match,  was  suffering 
from  the  most  distressing  skin-disease,  generally  breaking  out  with 
the  greatest  violence  in  the  hand.  The  match  which  the  cannoneer 
had  for  hours  held  in  his  hand  was  yet  warm  with  its  pressure,  and 
imparted  to  Napoleon's  hand  the  poison  of  the  contagious  disease. 
For  years  he  had  to  endure  the  eruption,  which  he  could  not  conquer, 
as  he  had  conquered  nations  and  princes,  but  to  its  destructive  and 
painful  power  he  had  to  subdue  his  body.  The  nervous  agitations  to 
which  he  was  subject,  the  shrugging  of  his  right  shoulder,  the  white- 
greenish  complexion  of  his  face,  the  leanness  of  his  body,  were  all  con- 
sequences of  this  disease.  It  was  only  when  Napoleon  had  become 
emperor,  that  Corvisart  succeeded,  by  his  eloquence,  in  persuading 
him  to  follow  a  regular  course  of  treatment.  This  treatment  cured 
him ;  his  white- greenish  complexion  and  his  leanness  disappeared. 
The  nervous  movement  of  the  shoulder  remained,  and  became  a  habit. 
—See  "  Memoires  de  Cpnstant,"  vol.  i. 


204  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  he,  "  you  have  saved  me  sand  for 
my  paper." 

Napoleon  smiled,  and  looked  with  a  joyous,  sympathiz- 
ing glance  at  the  young  oflBcer,  whose  handsome  pleasing 
countenance  was  radiant  with  bold  daring  and  harmless 
merriment. 

"  Now,  I  need  a  brave  messenger  to  carry  this  order  to 
that  exposed  detachment,"  said  Napoleon. 

"  I  will  be  the  messenger,"  cried  out  the  oflBcer,  eagerly. 

"Well,  I  accept  you,  but  you  must  remove  your  uni- 
form, and  put  on  a  blouse,  so  as  not  to  be  too  much  ex- 
posed." 

"  That  I  will  not  do,"  exclaimed  the  young  man.  "  I 
am  no  spy." 

"  What !  you  refuse  to  obey  ?  "  asked  Napoleon,  threat- 
eningly. 

"  No,  I  refuse  to  assume  a  disguise,"  answered  the  officer 
"  I  am  ready  to  obey,  and  even  to  carry  the  order  into  the 
very  hands  of  the  devil.  But  with  my  uniform  I  go,  other- 
wise those  cursed  Englishmen  might  well  imagine  that  I  am 
afraid  of  them." 

"  But  you  imperil  your  life  if  you  go  in  your  glittering 
uniform." 

"  My  life  does  not  belong  to  me,"  cried  out  gayly  the 
young  soldier.  "Who  cares  if  I  risk  it?  You  will  not  be 
sorry  about  it,  for  you  know  me  not,  citizen-officer,  and  it 
is  all  the  same  to  me.  Shall  I  not  go  in  my  uniform  ?  I 
should  be  delighted  to  encounter  those  English  gentlemen, 
for,  with  my  sword  and  the  sprightly  grains  in  my  patron's 
pocket,  the  conversation  will  not  sleep,  I  vow.  Now,  then, 
shall  I  go,  citizen-officer  ?  " 

"  Go,"  said  Napoleon,  smiling.  "  But  you  are  wrong  if 
you  think  I  will  not  be  sorry  in  case  you  pay  this  duty  with 
your  life.  You  are  a  brave  fellow,  and  I  love  the  brave. 
Go ;  but  first  tell  me  your  name,  that  when  you  return  I 


NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE  BEFORE  TOULON.   £05 

may  tell  General  Dugommier  what  came  he  has  to  inscribe 
in  his  papers  of  recommendation  for  officers ;  that  will  be 
the  reward  for  your  message." 

"  My  name  is  Junot,  citizen-officer,"  exclaimed  the 
young  man  as,  swinging  the  paper  in  his  hand,  he  darted 
away  eagerly. 

The  roar  of  the  cannon  was  still  heard,  when  Napoleon's 
messenger  returned,  after  a  few  hours,  and  reported  to  him. 
The  chief  of  division  received  him  with  a  friendly  motion 
of  his  head. 

"  Welcome,  Junot,"  said  he.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
back,  and  that  you  have  successfully  accomplished  your 
task.  I  must  now  make  a  change  of  position  in  yonder 
battallion.  To-morrow  I  will  give  you  your  commission  of 
lieutenant,  citizen-soldier." 

"  And  to-day  grant  me  a  nobler  reward,  citizen-officer," 
said  the  young  man,  tenderly ;  "  give  me  your  hand,  and 
allow  me  to  press  it  in  mine." 

Napoleon,  smiling,  gave  him  his  hand.  The  eyes  of 
both  young  men  met  in  radiant  looks,  and  with  these  looks 
was  sealed  the  covenant  which  united  them  both  in  a  friend- 
ship enduring  to  the  tomb.  For  not  one  of  his  companions- 
in-arms  remained  attached  to  Napoleon  with  so  warm,  true, 
nearly  impassioned  tenderness  as  Junot,  and  none  of  them 
was  by  the  general,  the  consul,  the  emperor,  more  im- 
plicitly trusted,  more  heartily  beloved  than  his  Junot,  whom 
he  exalted  to  the  ranks  of  general,  governor  of  Lisbon, 
Duke  d'Abrantes,  who  was  one  of  the  few  to  whom  in  his 
days  of  glory  he  allowed  to  speak  to  him  in  all  truth,  in  all 
freedom,  and  without  reserve. 

But  whilst  the  two  young  men  were  sealing  this  cove- 
nant of  friendship  with  this  look  of  spiritual  recognition,  the 
cannon  was  thundering  forth  on  all  sides.  The  earth  trem- 
bled from  the  reports  of  the  pieces ;  all  the  elements  seemed 
unloosed ;  the  storm  howled  as  if  to  mingle  the  noise  of 


206  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

human  strife  with  the  uproar  of  Nature ;  the  sea  dashed  its 
frothy,  mound-like  waves  with  terrible  noise  on  the  shore  ; 
the  rain  poured  down  from  the  skies  in  immense  torrents, 
and  everything  around  was  veiled  in  mists  of  dampness  and 
smoke.  And  amid  all  this,  crackled,  thundered,  and  hissed 
the  shells  which  were  directed  against  Little  Gibraltar,  or 
whizzed  from  Toulon,  to  bring  death  and  destruction  among 
the  besiegers. 

Night  sank  down,  and  yet  Little  Gibraltar  was  not  taken. 
"  I  am  lost,"  sighed  General  Dugommier.  "  I  shall  have  to 
pay  with  my  head,  if  we  are  forced  to  retreat." 

"  Then  we  must  go  forward,"  cried  Bonaparte ;  "  we  must 
have  Little  Gibraltar." 

An  hour  after,  a  loud  cry  of  victory  announced  to  Gen- 
eral Dugommier  that  the  chief  of  division  had  reached  his 
aim,  that  Little  Gibraltar  was  captured  by  the  French. 

As  the  day  began  to  dawn,  the  French  had  already  cap- 
tured two  other  forts ;  and  Bonaparte  roused  all  his  energies 
to  fire  from  Little  Gibraltar  upon  the  enemy's  fleet.  But 
the  English  admiral.  Lord  Hood,  knew  very  well  the  ter- 
rible danger  to  which  he  was  exposed  if  he  did  not  at  once 
weigh  anchor. 

The  chief  of  division  had  prophesied  correctly :  in  Little 
Gibraltar  was  the  key  of  Toulon ;  and  since  the  French  had 
now  seized  the  keys,  the  English  ships  could  no  longer  close 
the  city  against  them.  Toulon  was  lost — it  had  to  surrender 
to  the  conquerors.* 

It  is  true,  defensive  operations  were  still  carried  on,  but 
Napoleon's  balls  scattered  death  and  ruin  into  the  city; 
the  bursting  of  shells  brought  destruction  and  suffering 
everywhere,  and  in  the  city  as  well  as  in  the  harbor  columns 
of  flames  arose  from  houses  and  ships. 

Toulon  was  subdued ;  and  the  chief  of  division,  Napo- 

*  Toulon  fell  on  the  18th  of  December,  1793. 


BONAPARTE'S  IMPRISONMENT.  207 

leon  Bonaparte,  had  achieved  his  first  brilliant  pass  of  arms 
before  jubilant  France  and  astonished  Europe ;  he  had 
made  his  name  shine  out  from  the  obscurity  of  the  past, 
and  placed  it  on  the  pages  of  history. 

The  Convention  showed  itself  thankful  to  the  daring 
soldier,  who  had  won  such  a  brilliant  victory  alike  over  the 
foreign  as  well  as  over  the  internal  enemies  of  the  republic ; 
and  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  the  chief  of  division,  was  now 
promoted  to  the  generalship  of  division. 

He  accepted  the  nomination  with  a  quiet  smile.  The 
wondrous  brilliancy  of  his  eyes  betrayed  only  to  a  few 
friends  and  confidants  the  important  resolves  and  thoughts 
which  moved  the  soul  of  the  young  general. 

In  virtue  of  the  order  of  the  Convention,  the  newly- 
appointed  General  Bonaparte  was  to  go  to  the  army  of  the 
republic  which  was  now  stationed  in  Italy ;  and  he  received 
secret  instructions  from  the  Directory  concerning  Genoa. 
Bonaparte  left  Paris,  to  gather,  as  he  hoped,  fresh  laurels 
and  new  victories. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
bobtapaete's  imprisonment. 

On  the  25th  day  of  March,  1794,  General  Bonaparte 
entered  the  headquarters  of  the  French  army  in  Nice.  He 
was  welcomed  with  joy  and  marks  of  distinction,  for  the 
fame  of  his  heroic  deeds  before  Toulon  had  preceded  him  ; 
and  on  Bonaparte's  pale,  proud  face,  with  its  dark,  brilliant 
eyes,  was  written  that  he  was  now  come  into  Italy  to  add 
fresh  laurels  to  the  victor's  crown  won  before  Toulon. 

The  old  commander-in-chief  of  the  French  army.  Gen- 
eral Dumerbion,  confined  oftentimes  to  his  bed  through 
sickness^  was  very  willing  to  be  represented  by  GeneraJ 


a08  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Bonaparte,  and  to  place  every  thing  in  his  hands  ;  and  the 
two  representatives  of  the  people,  Ricord  and  Robespierre 
(the  younger  brother  of  the  all-powerful  dictator) — these 
two  representatives  in  the  army  corps  of  Italy  bound  them- 
selves in  intimate  friendship  with  the  young  general,  who 
seemed  to  share  their  glowing  enthusiasm  for  the  republic, 
and  their  hatred  against  the  monarchy  and  the  aristocrats. 
They  cherished,  moreover,  an  unreserved  confidence  in  the 
military  capacities  of  young  Bonaparte,  and  always  gave  to 
his  plans  their  unconditional  assent  and  approbation.  Upon 
Napoleon's  suggestion  batteries  were  erected  on  the  coast  of 
Provence  for  the  security  of  the  fleet  and  of  trading-vessels  ; 
and  when  this  had  been  accomplished,  the  general  began  to 
carry  out  the  plan  which  he  had  laid  before  the  representa- 
tives of  the  republic,  and  according  to  which  the  republican 
army,  with  its  right  and  left  wings  advancing  simultaneously 
on  the  sea-coast,  was  to  march  through  the  neutral  territory 
of  Genoa  into  Italy. 

This  plan  of  Bonaparte  was  crowned  with  the  most  un- 
expected success.  Without  observing  the  neutrality  of 
Genoa,  Generals  Massena  and  Arena  marched  through  the 
territory  of  the  proud  Italian  republic,  and  thus  began  the 
bloody  war  which  was  to  desolate  the  Italian  soil  for  so 
many  years. 

Ever  faithful  to  Bonaparte's  war-schemes,  which  the 
general-in-chief,  Dumerbion,  and  the  two  representatives  of 
the  people,  Ricord  and  Robespierre,  had  sanctioned,  the 
French  columns  moved  from  the  valleys,  within  whose  depths 
they  had  so  long  and  so  uselessly  shed  their  blood,  up  to  the 
heights  and  conquered  the  fortresses  which  the  King  of  Sar- 
dinia had  built  on  the  mountains  for  the  protection  of  his 
frontiers.  Thus  Fort  Mirabocco,  on  the  pass  of  the  Cross, 
fell  into  the  hands  of  General  Dumas,  who  then  conquered 
the  intrenched  Mount  Cenis ;  thus  the  pass  of  Tenda,  with 
the  fortress  Saorgio,  was  captured  by  the  French ;  and  there, 


BONAPARTE'S  IMPRISONMENT.  209 

ih  the  general  depot  of  the  Piedmontese  army,  they  found 
sixty  cannon  and  war  materials  of  all  kinds. 

The  French  had  celebrated  their  first  victories  in  Italy, 
and  both  commanding  officers  of  the  fortresses  of  Mirabocco 
and  Saorgio  had  to  pay  for  these  triumphs  in  Turin  with 
the  loss  of  their  lives ;  whilst  General  Bonaparte,  "  as  the 
one  to  whose  well-matured  plans  and  arrangements  these 
brilliant  results  were  due,"  received  from  the  Convention 
brilliant  encomiums. 

But  suddenly  the  state  of  affairs  assumed  another  shape, 
and  at  one  blow  all  the  hopes  and  plans  of  the  young,  vic- 
torious general  were  destroyed. 

Maximilian  Robespierre  had  fallen;  with  him  fell  the 
whole  party  ;  then  fell  his  brother,  who  a  short  time  before 
had  returned  to  Paris,  and  had  there  endeavored  to  obtain 
from  Maximilian  new  and  more  ample  powers  for  Bona- 
parte, and  even  the  appointment  to  the  chief  command  of 
the  army — there  fell  also  Ricord,  who  had  given  to  Gen- 
eral Bonaparte  the  letter  of  secret  instructions  for  energetic 
negotiations  with  the  government  of  Genoa,  and  to  carry  out 
which  instructions  Bonaparte  had  at  this  time  gone  to  that 
city. 

As  he  was  returning  to  his  headquarters  in  Saona,  from 
Paris  had  arrived  the  new  representatives,  who  came  to  the 
army  of  Italy  as  delegates  of  the  Convention,  and  were 
armed  with  full  powers. 

These  representatives  were  Salicetti,  Albitte,  and  La- 
porte.  The  first  of  these,  a  countryman  of  Bonaparte,  had 
been  thus  far  his  friend  and  his  party  associate.  He  was  in 
Corsica  at  the  same  time  as  Napoleon,  in  the  year  1793  ;  he 
had  been,  like  his  young  friend,  a  member  of  the  Jacobin 
Club  of  Ajaccio,  and  Salicetti's  speeches  had  not  been  in- 
ferior to  those  of  Napoleon,  either  in  wilduess  or  in  exalted 
republicanism. 

But  now  Salicetti  had  become  the  representative  of  the 


210  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

moderate  party;  and  it  was  highly  important  for  him  to 
establish  himself  securely  in  his  new  position,  and  to  give  to 
the  Convention  a  proof  of  the  firmness  of  his  sentiments  by 
manifesting  the  hatred  which  he  had  sworn  to  the  terror- 
ists, and  to  all  those  who,  under  the  fallen  regime^  had  ob- 
tained recognition  and  distinction. 

General  Bonaparte  had  been  a  friend  of  the  young 
Robespierre ;  loudly  and  openly  he  had  expressed  his  repub- 
lican and  democratic  sentiments ;  he  had  been  advanced 
under  the  administration  of  Robespierre,  from  simple  lieu- 
tenant to  general ;  he  had  been  sent  to  Genoa,  with  secret 
instructions  by  the  representatives  of  the  Committee  of 
Safety,  made  up  of  terrorists — all  this  was  sufficient  to  make 
him  appear  suspicious  to  the  moderate  party,  and  to  furnish 
Salicetti  an  opportunity  to  show  himself  a  faithful  partisan 
of  the  new  system  of  moderation. 

General  Bonaparte  was,  by  order  of  the  representatives 
of  the  people,  Salicetti  and  Albitte,  arrested  at  his  head- 
quarters in  Saona,  because,  as  the  warrant  for  arrest,  signed 
by  both  representatives,  asserted :  "  General  Bonaparte  had 
completely  lost  their  confidence  through  his  suspicious  de- 
meanor, and  especially  through  the  journey  which  he  had 
lately  made  to  Genoa."  The  warrant  of  arrest  furthermore 
ordered  that  General  Bonaparte,  whose  effects  should  be 
sealed  and  his  papers  examined,  was  to  be  sent  to  Paris, 
under  sure  escort,  and  be  brought  for  examination  before 
the  Committee  of  Safety. 

If  this  order  were  carried  into  execution,  then  Bonaparte 
was  lost ;  for,  though  Robespierre  had  fallen,  yet  with  his 
fall  the  system  of  blood  and  terror  had  not  been  overthrown 
in  Paris ;  it  had  only  changed  its  name. 

The  terrorists,  who  now  called  themselves  the  moderates, 
exercised  the  same  system  of  intimidation  as  their  prede- 
cessors ;  and  to  be  brought  before  the  Committee  of  Safety, 
signified  the  same  thing  as  to  receive  a  death-warrant 


BONAPARTE'S  IMPRISONMENT.  211 

Bonaparte  was  lost,  if  it  truly  came  to  this,  that  he  must 
be  led  to  Paris. 

This  was  what  Junot,  the  present  adjutant  of  Napoleon, 
and  his  faithful  friend  and  companion,  feared.  It  was 
therefore  necessary  to  anticipate  this  order,  and  to  procure 
ireedom  to  Bonaparte. 

A  thousand  schemes  for  the  rescue  of  his  beloved  chief, 
crossed  the  soul  of  the  young  man.  But  how  make  them 
known  to  the  general  ?  how  induce  him  to  flee,  since  all 
approaches  to  him  were  forbidden  ?  His  zeal,  his  inventive 
friendship,  succeeded  at  last  in  finding  a  means.  One  of 
the  soldiers,  who  was  placed  as  sentry  at  the  door  of  the  ar- 
rested general,  was  bribed  by  Junot ;  through  him  a  letter 
from  Junot  reached  Bonaparte's  hands,  which  laid  before 
him  a  scheme  of  flight  that  the  next  night  could  be  accom- 
plished with  Junot's  help. 

Not  far  "from  Bonaparte's  dwelling  Junot  awaited  the 
answer,  and  soon  a  soldier  passed  by  and  brought  it  to  him. 

This  answer  ran  thus :  "  In  the  propositions  you  make, 
I  acknowledge  your  deep  friendship,  my  dear  Junot ;  you 
are  also  conscious  of  the  friendship  I  have  consecrated  to 
you  for  a  long  time,  and  I  trust  you  have  confidence  in  it. 

"  Man  may  do  wrong  toward  me,  my  dear  Junot ;  it  is 
enough  for  me  to  be  innocent ;  my  conscience  is  the  tri- 
bunal which  I  recognize  as  sole  judge  of  my  conduct. 

"  This  conscience  is  quiet  when  I  question  it ;  do,  there- 
fore, nothing,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  compromise  me.  Adieu, 
dear  Junot.     Farewell,  and  friendship."* 

Meanwhile,  notwithstanding  his  quiet  conscience,  Bona- 
parte was  not  willing  to  meet  his  fate  passively  and  silently, 
and,  perchance,  it  seemed  to  him  that  it  was  "  not  enough 
to  be  innocent,"  so  as  to  be  saved  from  the  guillotine.  He 
therefore  addressed  a  protest  to  both  representatives  of  the 

*  Abrantes,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  i.,  p.  241. 


212  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

people  who  had  ordered  his  arrest,  and  this  protest,  which  he 
dictated  to  his  friend  Junot,  who  had  finally  succeeded  in 
coming  to  Bonaparte,  is  so  extraordinary  and  so  peculiar  in 
its  terseness  of  style,  in  its  expressions  of  political  senti- 
ment ;  it  furnishes  so  important  a  testimony  of  the  repub- 
lican democratic  opinions  of  the  young  twenty-six-year-old 
general,  that  we  cannot  but  give  here  this  document. 

Bonaparte  then  dictated  to  his  friend  Junot  as  fol- 
lows : 

"  To  the  representatives  Salicetti  and  Albitte : 

"  You  have  deprived  me  of  my  functions,  you  have  ar^ 
rested  me  and  declared  me  suspected. 

"  I  am,  then,  ruined  without  being  condemned ;  or  else, 
which  is  much  more  correct,  I  am  condemned  without  being 
heard. 

"  In  a  revolutionary  state  exist  two  classes :  the  sus- 
pected and  the  patriots. 

"When  those  of  the  first  class  are  accused,  they  are 
treated  as  the  common  law  of  safety  provides. 

"  The  oppression  of  those  of  the  second  class  is  the  ruin 
of  public  liberty.  The  judge  must  condemn  only  after  ma- 
ture deliberation,  and  when  a  series  of  unimpeachable  facts 
reaches  the  guilty. 

"  To  denounce  a  patriot  as  guilty  is  a  condemnation 
which  deprives  him  of  what  is  most  dear — confidence  and 
esteem. 

"  In  which  class  am  I  to  be  ranked  ? 

"  Have  I  not  been,  since  the  beginning  of  the  revolu- 
tion, faithful  to  its  principles? 

"  Have  I  not  always  been  seen  at  war  with  enemies  at 
home,  or  as  a  soldier  against  the  foreign  foe  ? 

"  I  have  sacrificed  my  residence  in  my  country  and  my 
property  to  the  republic ;  I  have  lost  all  for  her. 

"  By  serving  my  country  with  some  distinction  at  Tou- 
lon and  in  the  Italian  army,  I  have  had  my  share  in  the 


BONAPARTE'S  IMPRISONMENT.  213 

laurels  which  that  army  has  won  at  Saorgio,  Queille,  and 
Tanaro. 

"  At  the  time  of  the  discovery  of  Robespierre's  conspir- 
acy, my  conduct  was  that  of  a  man  who  is  accustomed  to 
recognize  principles  only. 

"  It  is  therefore  impossible  to  refuse  me  the  title  of 
patriot. 

"  Why,  then,  am  I  declared  suspect  without  being  heard  ? 
Why  am  I  arrested  eight  days  after  the  news  of  the  death 
of  the  tyrant  ? 

"  I  am  declared  suspect,  and  my  papers  are  sealed ! 

"  The  reverse  ought  to  have  taken  place :  my  papers 
ought  to  have  been  unsealed ;  I  ought  to  have  been  tried ; 
explanations  ought  to  have  been  sought  for,  and  then  I 
might  have  been  declared  suspect  if  there  were  sufficient 
motives  for  it. 

"  It  is  decided  that  I  must  go  to  Paris  under  a  warrant 
of  arrest  which  declares  me  suspect.  In  Paris  they  will 
conclude  that  the  representatives  have  acted  thus  only  after 
sufficient  examination,  and  I  shall  be  condemned  with  the 
sympathy  which  a  man  of  that  class  deserves. 

"  Innocent,  patriotic,  slandered,  whatever  may  be  the 
measures  which  the  committee  take,  I  cannot  complain. 

"  If  three  men  were  to  declare  that  I  have  committed  a 
crime,  I  could  not  complain  if  the  jury  should  declare  me 
guilty. 

"  Salicetti,  you  know  me.  Have  you,  during  the  five 
years  of  our  acquaintance,  found  in  my  conduct  any  thing 
which  could  be  suspected  as  against  the  revolution  ? 

"  Albitte,  you  know  me  not.  No  one  can  have  given 
you  convincing  evidence  against  me.  You  have  not  heard 
me;  you  know,  however,  with  what  smoothness  calumny 
oftentimes  whispers. 

"  Must  I  then  be  taken  for  an  enemy  of  my  country  ? 
Must  the  patriots  ruin,  without  any  regard,  a  general  who 


214  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

has  not  been  entirely  useless  to  the  republic  ?  Must  the  rep- 
resentatives place  the  government  under  the  necessity  of 
acting  unjustly  and  impolitically  ? 

"  Mark  my  words ;  destroy  the  oppression  which  binds 
me  down,  and  re-establish  me  in  the  esteem  of  the  pa- 
triots. 

"  If,  then,  at  some  future  hour,  the  wicked  shall  still 
long  for  my  life,  well,  then  I  consider  it  of  so  little  im- 
portance— I  have  so  often  despised  it — yes,  the  mere  thought 
that  it  can  be  useful  to  the  country,  enables  me  to  bear  its 
burden  with  courage."  * 

Whether  these  energetic  protestations  of  Bonaparte,  or 
whether  some  other  motives,  conduced  to  the  result,  Sali- 
cetti  thought  that  with  Napoleon's  arrest  he  had  furnished 
sufficient  proof  of  his  patriotic  sentiments ;  it  seemed  to  him 
enough  to  have  obscured  the  growing  fame  of  the  young 
general,  and  to  have  plunged  back  into  obscurity  and  for- 
getfulness  him  whose  first  steps  in  life's  career  promised 
such  a  radiant  and  glorious  course  ! 

It  matters  not,  however,  what  circumstances  may  have 
wrought  out ;  the  representatives  Salicetti  and  Albitte  issued 
a  decree  in  virtue  of  which  General  Bonaparte  was,  after 
mature  consideration  and  thorough  examination  of  his  pa- 
pers, declared  innocent  and  free  from  all  suspicion.  Conse- 
quently, Bonaparte  was  temporarily  set  at  liberty ;  but  he 
was  suspended  from  his  command  in  the  Italian  army,  and 
was  recalled  to  Paris,  there  to  be  made  acquainted  with  his 
future  destination. 

This  destination  was  pointed  out  to  him  in  a  commission 
as  brigadier-general  of  infantry  in  the  province  of  Vendue, 
there  to  lead  on  the  fratricidal  strife  against  the  fanatical 
Chouans,  the  faithful  adherents  of  the  king, 

Bonaparte  refused  this  offer — first,  because  it  seemed  to 

•  Bourienne,  "  Mdraoires  sur  Napoleon,"  etc,  vol,  i.,  p.  63. 


BONAPARTE'S  IMPRISONMENT.  215 

him  an  insulting  request  to  ask  him  to  fight  against  his 
own  countrymen;  and  secondly,  because  he  did  not  wish 
to  enter  the  infantry  service,  but  to  remain  in  the  artil- 
lery. 

The  Committee  of  Safety  responded  to  this  refusal  of 
Bonaparte  by  striking  his  name  from  the  list  of  generals 
appointed  for  promotion,  because  he  had  declined  to  go  to 
the  post  assigned  him. 

This  decision  fell  upon  the  ambitious,  heroic  young  man 
like  a  thunderbolt.  He  had  dreamed  of  brilliant  war  deeds, 
of  laurels,  of  fame,  of  a  glorious  future,  won  for  him  by  his 
own  sword ;  and  now,  all  at  once,  he  saw  himself  dragged 
away  from  this  luminous  track  of  fame  upon  which  he  had 
so  brilliantly  entered — he  saw  himself  thrust  back  into  ob- 
scurity, f orgetf ulness,  and  inactivity. 

A  gloomy,  misanthropic  sentiment  took  possession  of 
him ;  and,  though  a  prophetic  voice  within  said  that  the 
future  still  belonged  to  him,  with  its  fame,  its  laurels,  its 
victories,  yet  inactivity,  care,  and  the  wants  of  the  present, 
hung  with  oppressive  weight  upon  his  mind. 

He  withdrew  from  all  social  joys  and  recreations,  he 
avoided  his  acquaintances,  and  only  to  a  few  friends  did  he 
open  his  foreboding  heart ;  only  with  these  did  he  associate, 
and  to  them  alone  he  made  his  complaints  of  broken  hopes, 
of  life's  career  destroyed. 

To  these  few  friends,  whom  Bonaparte  in  his  misfortune 
found  faithful  and  unchanged,  belonged  the  Permont  fam- 
ily, and  above  all  belonged  Junot,  who  had  come  to  Paris 
at  the  same  time  as  Bonaparte,  and  who,  though  the  latter 
was  dismissed  from  the  service,  continued  to  call  himself 
the  adjutant  of  General  Bonaparte. 

In  the  Permont  family  Napoleon  was  received  with  the 

same  friendship  and  attention  as  in  former  days ;  Madame 

de  Permont  retained  ever  for  the  son  of  the  friend  of  her 

youth,  Letitia,  a  kindly  smile,  a  genial  sympathy,  an  intelli- 

15 


216  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

gent  appreciation  of  his  plans  and  wishes;  her  husband 
manifested  toward  him  all  the  interest  of  a  parental  regard  ; 
her  son  Albert  was  full  of  tenderness  and  admiration  for 
him ;  and  her  younger  daughter  Laura  jested  and  conversed 
with  him  as  with  a  beloved  brother. 

In  this  house  every  thing  seemed  pleasant  and  friendly 
to  Bonaparte ;  thither  he  came  every  day,  and  mixed  with 
the  social  circles,  which  gathered  in  the  evening  in  the 
drawing-rooms  of  the  beautiful,  witty  Madame  de  Permont ; 
and  where  men  even  of  diverging  political  sentiments,  aris- 
tocrats and  ci-devants  of  the  first  water,  were  to  be  found. 
But  Madame  de  Permont  had  forbidden  all  political  discus- 
sion in  her  saloon ;  and  General  Bonaparte,  now  compelled 
to  inactivity,  dared  no  more  show  his  anger  against  the 
Committee  of  Safety,  or  against  the  Convention,  than  the 
Count  de  Montmorency  or  any  of  the  proud  ladies  of  the 
former  quarter  of  St.  Germain. 

Not  only  the  inactivity  to  which  he  was  condemned,  not 
only  the  destruction  of  all  his  ambitious  hopes,  burdened 
the  mind  of  Bonaparte,  but  also  the  material  pressure  under 
which  he  now  and  then  found  himself,  and  which  seemed 
to  him  a  shame  and  a  humiliation.  With  gloomy  grudge  he 
gazed  at  those  young  elegants  whom  he  met  on  the  Boule- 
vards in  splendid  toilet,  on  superb  horses — at  these  incroya- 
bles  who,  in  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  of  peace,  from  the  soil 
of  the  republic,  yet  moist  with  blood,  had  sprung  up  as  so 
many  mushrooms  of  divers  colors  and  varied  hues. 

"And  such  men  enjoy  their  happiness!"  exclaimed 
Bonaparte,  contemptuously,  as  once  in  the  Champs  Elys6es 
he  sat  before  a  coffee-house,  near  one  of  those  incroydbles^ 
and  with  violent  emotion  starting  up,  he  pushed  his  seat 
back  and  nearly  broke  the  feet  of  his  exquisitely  dressed 
neighbor. 

To  be  forgotten,  to  be  set  in  the  background,  to  be  lim- 
ited in  means,  was  always  to  him  a  source  of  anger,  which 


BONAPARTE'S  IMPRISONMENT.  217 

manifested  itself  now  in  impassioned  vehemence,  now  in 
vague,  gloomy  dreaminess,  from  which  he  would  rise  up 
again  with  some  violent  sarcasm  or  some  epigrammatic  re- 
mark. 

But  whilst  he  thus  siiffered,  was  in  want,  and  had  so 
much  to  endure,  his  mind  and  heart  were  always  busy.  His 
mind  was  framing  new  plans  to  bring  to  an  end  these  days 
of  inactivity,  to  open  a  new  path  of  fame  and  glory ;  his 
heart  dreamed  of  a  sweet  bliss,  of  another  new  love  ! 

The  object  of  this  love  was  the  sister  of  his  brother's 
wife,  the  young  Desiree  Clary.  Joseph  Bonaparte,  who  was 
now  in  Marseilles  as  war-commissioner,  had  married  there 
one  of  the  daughters  of  the  rich  merchant  Clary ;  and  her 
younger  sister  Desiree  was  the  one  to  whom  Napoleon  had 
devoted  his  heart.  The  whole  Bonaparte  family  was  now  in 
Marseilles,  and  had  decided  to  make  their  permanent  resi- 
dence in  France,  as  their  return  to  Corsica  was  still  impos- 
sible ;  for  General  Paoli,  no  longer  able  to  hold  the  island, 
had  called  the  English  to  his  help,  and  the  assembled  Con- 
sulta,  over  which  Paoli  presided,  had  invited  the  King  of 
England  to  become  sovereign  of  the  island.  The  French 
party,  at  whose  head  had  been  the  Bonaparte  family,  was 
overcome,  and  could  no  longer  lift  up  head  or  voice. 

Bonaparte  came  often  to  Marseilles  to  visit  his  family, 
which  consisted  of  his  mother  Letitia,  her  three  daughters, 
her  two  younger  sons,  and  her  brother,  the  Abbe  Fesch. 
There,  he  had  seen  every  day,  in  the  house  of  his  brother, 
Desiree  Clary,  and  the  beautiful,  charming  maid  had  not 
failed  to  leave  in  the  heart  of  the  young  general  a  deep  im- 
pression. D6siree  seemed  to  return  this  inclination,  and  a 
union  of  the  two  young  lovers  might  soon  have  taken  place, 
if  fate,  in  the  shape  of  accident,  had  not  prevented  it. 

Joseph  was  sent  by  the  Committee  of  Safety  to  Genoa, 
with  instructions  ;  his  young  wife  and  her  sister  Desiree  ac- 
companied him.     Perhaps  the  new,  variable  impressions  of 


218  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

the  journey,  perhaps  her  separation  from  Bonaparte,  and 
her  association  with  other  officers  less  gloomy  than  the  sat- 
urnine Napoleon,  all  this  seemed  to  cool  the  love  of  Desiree 
Clary ;  she  no  more  answered  Napoleon's  letters,  and,  in 
writing  to  his  brother  Joseph,  he  made  bitter  complaints : 
"It  seems  that  to  reach  Genoa  the  River  Lethe  must  first 
be  crossed,  and  therefore  Desiree  writes  no  more."  * 

The  only  confidant  to  whom  Bonaparte  imparted  these 
heart-complaints,  was  Junot.  He  had  for  him  no  secrecy 
of  his  innermost  and  deepest  inclinations ;  to  him  he  com- 
plained with  grave  and  impassioned  words  of  Desiree*8 
changeableness ;  and  Junot,  whose  worshipful  love  for  his 
friend  could  not  understand  that  any  maiden,  were  she  the 
most  beautiful  and  glorious  on  earth,  could  ever  slight  the 
inclination  of  General  Bonaparte,  Junot  shared  his  wrath 
against  Desiree,  who  had  begun  the  rupture  between  them 
by  leaving  unanswered  two  of  Napoleon's  letters. 

After  having  been  angry  and  having  complained  in  con- 
cert with  Bonaparte,  Junot's  turn  to  be  confidential  had 
come.  Bewildered,  and  blushing  like  a  young  maid,  he 
avowed  to  his  dear  general  that  he  also  loved,  and  that  he 
could  hope  for  happiness  and  joy  only  if  Napoleon's  younger 
sister,  the  beautiful  little  Pauline,  would  be  his  wife. 

Bonaparte  listened  to  him  with  a  frowning  countenance, 
and  when  Junot  ended  by  asking  his  mediation  with  Pau- 
line's mother,  Napoleon  asked  in  a  grave  tone,  "  But,  what 
have  you  to  live  upon  ?  Can  you  support  Pauline  ?  Can 
you,  with  her,  establish  a  household  which  will  be  safe 
against  want  ?  " 

Junot,  radiant  with  joy,  told  him  how,  anticipating  this 
question  of  Napoleon,  he  had  written  to  his  father,  and 
had  asked  for  information  in  regard  to  his  means ;  and  that 
his  father  had  just  now  answered  his  questions,  and  had  re- 

•  See  "  Memoires  du  Roi  Joseph,"  vol.  L 


BONAPARTE'S  IMPRISONMENT.  219 

plied  that  for  the  present  he  could  not  give  him  anything, 
but  that  after  his  death  the  inheritance  of  his  son  would 
amount  to  twenty  thousand  francs. 

"  I  shall  be  one  day  rich,"  exclaimed  Junot,  gayly,  as  he 
handed  to  Napoleon  the  letter  of  his  father,  "  for  with  my 
pay  I  will  have  an  income  of  twelve  hundred  livres.  My 
general,  I  beseech  you,  write  to  the  Citoyenne  Bonaparte ; 
tell  her  that  you  have  read  the  letter  of  my  father,  and  say 
a  good  word  in  my  favor." 

Bonaparte  did  not  at  once  reply.  He  attentively  read 
the  letter  of  Junot,  senior,  then  returned  it  to  his  friend, 
and  with  head  sunk  down  upon  his  breast  he  stared  gloom- 
ily, with  contracted  eyebrows. 

"  You  answer  not,  general,"  exclaimed  Junot,  in  extreme 
anguish.     "  You  do  not  wish  to  be  my  mediator  ?  " 

Bonaparte  raised  his  head ;  his  cheeks  were  paler  than 
before,  and  a  gloomy  expression  was  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  cannot  write  to  my  mother  to  make  her  this  propo- 
sition," said  he,  in  a  rough,  severe  tone.  "  That  is  impossi- 
ble, my  friend.  You  say  that  one  day  you  will  have  an  in- 
come of  twelve  hundred  livres.  That  is,  indeed,  very  fair, 
but  you  have  them  not  now;.  Besides,  your  father's  health 
is  remarkably  good,  and  he  will  make  you  wait  a  long  time. 
For  the  present  you  have  nothing ;  for  your  lieutenant's 
epaulets  can  be  reckoned  as  nothing.  As  regards  Pauline, 
she  has  not  even  that  much.  Let  us  then  sum  up:  you 
have  nothing ;  she  has  nothing  !  What  is  the  total  amount  ? 
Nothing.  You  cannot,  therefore,  be  married  now :  let  us 
wait.  We  shall,  perhaps,  friend,  outlive  these  evil  days. 
Yes,  we  shall  outlive  them,  even  if  I  have  to  become  an 
exile,  to  seek  for  them  in  another  portion  of  the  world  I 
Let  us,  then,  wait ! "  * 

And  a  wondrous,  mysterious  brilliancy  and  flash  filled 

*  Bonaparte's  words. — See  Abrantes,  "  M^moires,"  vol.  i.,  p.  284. 


220  THE   EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

the  eyes  of  General  Bonaparte,  as  with  a  commanding  voice 
he  repeated,  "  Let  us  wait ! " 

Was  this  one  of  those  few  and  pregnant  moments  in 
which  the  mind  with  prophetic  power  gazes  into  the  future? 
Had  a  corner  of  the  veil  which  hid  the  future  been  lifted 
up  before  the  glowing  eagle-eye  of  Napoleon,  and  did  he  see 
the  splendor  and  the  glory  of  that  future  which  were  to  be 
his?  However  great  his  imagination,  however  ambitious 
his  dreams,  however  wide  his  hopes,  yet  they  all  were  to  be 
one  day  surpassed  by  the  reality.  For  would  he  not  have 
considered  a  madman  him  who,  at  this  hour,  would  have  told 
him :  "  Smooth  the  furrows  on  your  brow,  Bonaparte ;  be 
not  downcast  about  the  present.  You  are  now  in  want,  you 
are  thrust  aside ;  forgetf ulness  and  obscurity  are  now  your 
lot ;  but  be  of  good  cheer,  you  will  be  emperor,  and  all  Eu- 
rope will  lie  trembling  at  your  feet.  You  love  the  young 
Desir^e  Clary,  and  her  indifference  troubles  you  ;  but  be  of 
good  cheer,  you  will  one  day  marry  the  daughter  of  a  Caesar, 
and  the  little  D6siree,  the  daughter  of  a  merchant  from 
Marseilles,  will  one  day  be  Sweden's  queen  !  You  refuse  to 
Junot,  your  friend,  the  gratification  of  his  wishes,  because 
he  possesses  nothing  but  his  officer's  epaulets:  but  be  of 
good  cheer,  for  you  will  one  day  convert  the  little  Lieuten- 
ant Junot  into  a  duke,  and  give  him  a  kingdom  for  a  dowry ! 
You  feel  downhearted  and  ashamed,  because  your  sister 
Pauline  is  not  rich,  because  she  possesses  nothing  but  her 
beauty  and  her  name :  but  be  of  good  cheer,  she  will  one 
day  be  the  wife  of  the  wealthiest  prince  of  Italy ;  all  the 
treasures  of  art  will  be  gathered  in  her  palace,  and  yet  she 
will  be  the  most  precious  ornament  of  that  palace ! " 

Surely  the  General  Bonaparte  would  have  laughed  at  the 
madman,  who,  in  the  year  1795,  should  have  thus  spoken  to 
him — and  yet  a  mere  decade  of  years  was  to  suflfice  for  the 
realization  of  all  these  prophecies,  and  to  turn  the  incredible 
into  a  reality. 


THE  THIRTEENTH  VENDEMIAIRE.  221 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  THIRTEENTH   VENDEMIAIRE. 

The  days  of  terror,  and  of  blood,  under  which  France 
has  sighed  so  long,  were  not  to  end  with  the  fall  of  Robes- 
pierre. Another  enemy  of  the  rest  and  peace  of  France 
had  now  made  its  entrance  into  Paris — hunger  began  to  ex- 
ercise its  dreary  rule  of  horror,  and  to  fill  the  hearts  of  men 
with  rage  and  despair. 

Everywhere  throughout  France  the  crops  had  failed,  and 
the  republic  had  too  much  to  do  with  the  guillotine,  with 
the  political  struggles  in  the  interior,  with  the  enemies  on 
the  frontier,  she  had  been  so  busy  with  the  heads  of  her 
children,  that  she  could  have  no  care  for  the  welfare  of  their 
stomachs. 

The  corn-magazines  were  empty,  and  in  the  treasury  of 
the  republican  government  there  was  no  money  to  buy  grain 
in  foreign  markets.  Very  soon  the  want  of  bread,  the  cry 
for  food,  made  itself  felt  everywhere ;  soon  hunger  goaded 
into  new  struggles  of  despair  the  poor  Parisian  people, 
already  so  weary  with  political  storms,  longing  for  rest, 
and  exhausted  by  conflicts.  Hunger  drove  them  again  into 
politics,  hunger  converted  the  women  into  demons,  and 
their  husbands  into  fanatical  Jacobins.  Every  day,  tumults 
and  seditious  gatherings  took  place  in  Paris ;  the  murmuring 
and  howling  crowd  threatened  to  rise  up.  Every  day  ap- 
peared at  the  bar  of  the  Convention  the  sections  of  Paris, 
entreating  with  wild  cries  for  a  remedy  for  their  distress. 
At  every  step  in  the  streets  one  was  met  by  intoxicated 
women,  who  tried  to  find  oblivion  of  their  hunger  in  wine, 
and  to  whom,  notwithstanding  their  drunkenness,  the  con- 
sciousness of  their  calamity  remained.  These  drunken 
women,  with  the  gestures  of  madness,  shouted :  "  Bread ! 
give  us  bread !     We  had  bread  at  least  in  the  year  '93 1 


222  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Bread !  Down  with  the  republic !  Down  with  the  Conven% 
tion,  which  leaves  us  to  starve ! " 

To  these  shouts  responded  other  masses  of  the  people : 
*'  Down  with  the  constitutionalists !  Long  live  the  Moun- 
tain !    Long  live  the  Convention ! " 

Civil  war,  which  in  its  exhaustion  had  remained  subdued 
for  a  moment,  threatened  to  break  out  with  renewed  rage, 
for  the  parties  stood  face  to  face  in  determined  hostility,  and 
"  Down  with  the  constitutionalists ! — down  with  the  repub- 
licans ! "  was  the  watchword  of  these  parties. 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  the  Mountain,  as  if  the 
revolution,  would  regain  the  ascendency,  as  if  the  terrorists 
would  once  more  seize  the  rudder  which  had  slipped  from 
their  blood-stained  hands.  But  the  Convention,  which  for 
a  time  had  remained  undecided,  trembling  and  vacillating, 
rose  at  length  from  its  lethargy  to  firm,  energetic  measures, 
and  came  to  the  determination  to  restore  peace  at  any 
price. 

The  people,  stirred  up  by  the  terrorists,  the  furious  men 
of  the  Mountain,  had  to  be  reduced  to  silence,  and  the  cry, 
**  Long  live  the  constitution  of  '93 ! — down  with  the  Con- 
vention ! " — this  cry,  which  every  day  rolled  on  through  the 
streets  of  Paris  like  the  vague  thunderings  of  the  war-drum, 
— had  to  be  put  down  by  armed  force.  Barrere,  Collot 
d'Herbois,  Billaud  Varennes,  the  remnant  of  the  sanguinary 
administration  of  Robespierre,  the  terrorists  who  excited 
the  people  against  the  Convention,  who  pressed  on  the 
Thermidorists,  and  wanted  to  occupy  their  place,  these  were 
the  ones  who  with  their  adherents  and  friends  threatened 
the  Convention  and  imperilled  its  existence.  The  Conven- 
tion rose  up  in  its  might  and  punished  these  leaders  of  se- 
dition, so  as  through  fear  and  horror  to  disperse  the  masses 
of  the  people. 

Barrere,  Collot  d'Herbois,  and  Billaud  Varennes,  were 
arrested  and  sent  to  Cayenne ;  six  of  their  friends,  six  re* 


THE  THIRTEENTH  VENDfiMIAIRE.  223 

publicans  and  terrorists,  were  also  seized,  and  as  they  were 
convicted  of  forging  plots  against  the  Convention  and  the 
actual  administration,  they  were  sentenced  to  death.  A 
seventh  had  also  been  at  the  head  of  this  conspiracy ;  and 
this  seventh  one,  who  with  the  others  had  been  sentenced  to 
death,  and  whom  the  Committee  of  Safety  had  watched  for 
everywhere,  to  bring  down  upon  him  the  chastisement  due, 
this  seventh  one  was  Salicetti — the  same  Salicetti  who  after 
the  fall  of  Kobespierre  had  arrested  General  Bonaparte  as 
suspect.  Bonaparte  had  never  forgiven  him,  and  though 
he  often  met  him  in  the  house  of  Madame  de  Permont,  and 
appeared  to  be  reconciled  with  him,  yet  he  could  not  forget 
that  he  was  the  one  who  had  stopped  him  in  the  midst  of 
his  course  of  fame,  that  it  was  he  who  had  debarred  him 
from  his  whole  career. 

"  Salicetti  has  done  me  much  harm,"  said  Bonaparte  to 
Madame  de  Permont,  and  a  strange  look  from  his  eyes  met 
her  face — "  Salicetti  has  destroyed  my  future  in  its  dawn. 
He  has  blighted  my  plans  of  fame  in  their  bud.  I  repeat, 
he  has  done  me  much  harm.  He  has  been  my  evil  spirit. 
I  can  never  forget  it,"  but  added  he,  thoughtfully,  "  I  will 
now  try  to  forgive."* 

And  again  a  peculiar,  searching  look  of  his  eyes  met  the 
face  of  Madame  de  Permont. 

She,  however,  turned  aside,  she  avoided  his  look,  for  she 
dared  not  tell  him  that  Salicetti,  for  whom  the  Convention 
searched  throughout  Paris  so  as  to  bring  upon  him  the  ex- 
ecution of  his  death-warrant — that  Salicetti,  whom  Bona- 
parte so  fiercely  hated,  v^sls  hid  a  few  steps  from  him  in  the 
little  cabinet  near  the  drawing-room. 

Like  Bonaparte,  Salicetti  was  the  countryman  of  Ma- 
dame de  Permont;  in  the  days  of  his  power,  he  had  saved 
the  husband  and  the  son  of  Panonia  from  the  persecution  of 

*  Abrantes,  vol.  i,  p.  300. 


224  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE, 

the  terrorists,  and  he  had  now  come  to  ask  safety  from  tho&e 
whom  he  had  once  saved. 

Madame  de  Permont  had  not  had  the  courage  to  refuse 
an  asylum  to  Salicetti ;  she  kept  him  secreted  in  her  house 
for  weeks;  and  during  all  these  weeks,  Bonaparte  came 
daily  to  visit  Madame  de  Permont  and  her  children,  and 
every  day  he  turned  the  conversation  upon  Salicetti,  and 
asked  if  they  knew  not  yet  where  he  was  secreted^  And 
every  time,  when  Madame  de  Permont  answered  him  in  the 
negative,  he  gazed  at  her  with  a  piercing  look,  and  with  his 
light,  sarcastic  smile. 

Meanwhile  Salicetti's  danger  for  himself,  and  those  who 
secreted  him,  increased  every  day,  and  Madame  de  Permont 
resolved  to  quit  Paris.  The  sickness  of  her  husband,  who 
was  in  Toulon,  furnished  her  with  the  welcomed  opportu- 
nity of  a  journey.  She  made  known  to  the  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances who  visited  her  house,  and  especially  to  Bona- 
parte, that  she  had  received  a  letter  from  the  physician  in 
Toulon,  requesting  her  presence  at  her  husband's  bed  of 
sickness.  Bonaparte  read  the  letter,  and  again  the  same 
strange  look  met  the  face  of  Madame  de  Permont. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  important,"  said  he,  "  that  you  should 
travel,  and  I  advise  you  to  do  so  as  soon  as  possible.  Fatal 
consequences  might  ensue  to  M.  de  Permont,  were  you  to 
delay  any  longer  in  going  to  Toulon." 

Madame  de  Permont  made,  therefore,  all  her  arrange- 
ments for  this  journey.  Salicetti,  disguised  as  a  servant, 
was  to  accompany  her.  Bonaparte  still  came  as  usual  every 
day,  and  took  great  interest  in  the  preparations  for  her 
journey,  and  conversed  with  her  in  the  most  friendly  and 
pleasant  manner.  On  the  day  of  departure,  he  saluted  her 
most  cordially,  assured  her  of  his  true,  unswerving  attach- 
ment, and,  with  a  final,  significant  look,  expressed  a  wish 
that  her  journey  might  be  accomplished  without  danger. 

When  Madame  de  Permont  had  overcome  all  difficulties, 


THE  THIRTEENTH  VENDfiMIAIRE.  225 

and  she  and  her  daughter  had  left  Paris  and  passed  the 
barriere^  as  the  carriage  rolled  on  without  interruption 
(Salicetti,  disguised  as  a  servant,  sitting  near  the  postilion 
on  the  driver's  seat),  the  housemaid  handed  to  her  a  letter 
which  General  Bonaparte  had  given  her,  with  positive  or- 
ders to  hand  it  to  her  mistress  only  when  they  should  be 
beyond  the  outer  gates  of  Paris. 

The  letter  ran  thus :  "  I  have  never  been  deceived :  I 
would  seem  to  be  in 'your  estimation,  if  I  did  not  tell  you 
that,  for  the  last  twenty  days,  I  knew  that  Salicetti  was 
secreted  in  your  house.  Eemember  what  I  told  you  on  the 
first  day,  Prairial,  Madame  de  Permont — I  had  then  the 
mental  conviction  of  this  secrecy.  Now  it  is  a  matter  of 
fact. — Salicetti,  you  see  I  could  have  returned  to  you  the 
wrong  which  you  perpetrated  against  me,  and  by  so  doing 
I  should  have  revenged  myself,  whilst  you  wronged  me 
without  any  offence  on  my  part.  Who  plays  at  this  mo- 
ment the  nobler  part,  you  or  I?  Yes,  I  could  have  re- 
venged myself,  and  I  have  not  done  it.  You  will,  perhaps, 
say  that  your  benefactress  acted  as  a  protecting  shield. 
That  is  true,  and  it  also  is  taken  into  consideration.  Yet, 
even  without  this  consideration,  such  as  you  were — alone, 
disarmed,  sentenced — your  head  would  even  then  have  been 
sacred  to  me.  Go,  seek  in  peace  a  refuge  where  you  can  rise 
to  nobler  sentiments  for  your  country.  My  mouth  remains 
closed  in  reference  to  your  name,  and  will  no  more  utter  it. 
Repent,  and,  above  all  things,  do  justice  to  my  intentions. 
I  deserve  it,  for  they  are  noble  and  generous. 

"  Madame  de  Permont,  my  best  wishes  accompany  you 
and  your  daughter.  You  are  two  frail  beings,  without  pro- 
tection. Providence  and  prayers  will  accompany  you.  Be 
prudent,  and  during  your  journey  never  stop  in  large  towns. 
Farewell,  and  receive  the  assurance  of  my  friendship."  * 

♦  Abrantes,  "  M^moires,"  vol.  i.,  p.  351. 


226  I'HE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

The  nobility  of  mind  which  Bonaparte  displayed  toward 
his  enemy  was  soon  to  receive  its  reward ;  for,  whilst  Sali- 
cetti,  a  fugitive,  sick,  and  sentenced  to  death,  was  compelled 
to  remain  hidden,  Bonaparte  was  emerging  from  the  obliv- 
ion to  which  the  ambitious  zeal  of  Salicetti  would  have  con- 
signed him. 

When  Napoleon,  dismissed  from  his  position,  arrived  in 
Paris,  and  appealed  to  Aubry,  the  chief  of  the  war  depart- 
ment, to  be  re-established  in  his  command,  he  was  told : 
"  Bonaparte  is  too  young  to  command  an  army  as  general- 
in-chief ; "  and  Bonaparte  answered :  "  One  soon  becomes 
old  on  the  battle-field,  and  I  come  from  it."  * 

But  Aubry,  in  his  functions  of  chief  of  the  war  depart- 
ment, was  soon  superseded  by  the  representative  Douclet  de 
Ponte-Coulant,  and  this  event  gave  to  the  position  of  the 
young  general  a  different  aspect.  Ponte-Coulant  had  for 
some  time  followed  with  attention  the  course  of  the  young 
general,  whose  military  talents  and  warlike  reputation  had 
filled  him  with  astonishment.  He  had  especially  been  sur- 
prised at  the  plan  for  the  conduct  of  the  war  and  the  con- 
quest of  Italy  which  Bonaparte  had  laid  before  the  war 
committee.  Now  that  Ponte-Coulant  had  been  promoted 
to  be  chief  of  the  war  department,  he  sent  for  General 
Bonaparte,  and  attached  him  to  the  topographic  committee, 
where  the  plans  of  campaigns  were  decided  and  the  move- 
ments of  each  separate  corps  delineated. 

The  forgotten  one,  doomed  to  inactivity,  General  Napo- 
leon Bonaparte,  now  arose  from  his  obscurity,  and  before 
him  again  opened  life,  the  world,  and  fame's  pathway, 
which  was  to  lead  him  up  to  a  throne.  But  the  envy  and 
jealousy  of  the  party-men  of  the  Convention  ever  threw 
obstacles  before  him  on  his  glorious  course,  and  the  war- 
scheme  which  he  now  unfolded  to  the  committee  for  the 

*  Norvins,  "  Histoire  de  Napoleon,"  vol.  i.,  p.  GO. 


THE  THIRTEENTH   VENDEMIAIRE.  227 

campaign  did  not  receive  the  approbation  of  the  successor 
of  Ponte-Coulant  in  the  war  department,  and  it  was  thrust 
aside.  A  new  political  crisis  was  needed  to  place  in  the 
hands  of  Napoleon  the  command  of  the  army,  the  ruling 
authority  over  France,  and  this  crisis  was  at  hand. 

Paris,  diseased,  still  bleeding  in  its  innermost  life  with 
a  thousand  wounds,  was  devoured  by  hunger.  The  un- 
fortunate people,  wretched  from  want  and  pain,  during 
many  past  years,  were  now  driven  to  despair.  The  politi- 
cal party  leaders  understood  but  too  well  how  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  this,  and  to  prey  upon  it.  The  royalists  were 
busy  instilling  into  the  people's  minds  the  idea  that  the 
return  of  the  Bourbons  would  restore  to  miserable  France 
peace  and  happiness.  The  terrorists  told  the  people  that 
the  Convention  was  the  sole  obstacle  to  their  rest  and  to 
their  peace,  that  it  was  necessary  to  scatter  it  to  the  winds, 
and  to  re-establish  the  Constitution  of  1793.  The  whole 
population  of  Paris  was  divided  and  broken  into  factions, 
struggling  one  against  the  other  with  infuriated  passions. 
The  royalists,  strengthened  by  daily  accessions  of  emigrants, 
who,  under  fictitious  names  and  with  false  passports,  re- 
turned to  Paris  to  claim  the  benefit  of  the  milder  laws 
passed  in  their  favor,  constituted  a  formidable  power  in 
that  city.  Whole  sections  were  devoted  to  them,  and  were 
secretly  supplied  by  them  with  arms  and  provisions,  so  as 
finally  to  be  prepared  to  act  against  the  Convention.  An 
occasion  soon  presented  itself. 

The  Convention  had,  through  eleven  of  its  committee 
members,  prepared  a  new  constitution,  and  had  laid  it  before 
the  people  for  adoption  or  rejection,  according  to  the  ma- 
jority of  votes.  The  whole  country,  with  the  exception  of 
Paris,  was  in  favor  of  this  new  constitution — she  alone  in  her 
popular  assemblies  rejected  it,  declared  the  Convention  dis- 
solved, and  the  armed  sections  arose  to  make  new  elections. 
The  Convention  declared  these  assemblies  to  be  illegal,  and 


2$8  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

ordered  their  dissolution.  The  armed  sections  made  resist- 
ance, congregated  together,  and  by  force  opposed  the  troops 
of  the  Convention — the  National  Guards — commanded  by 
General  Menou.  On  the  12th  Vendemiaire  all  Paris  was 
under  arms  again ;  barricades  were  thrown  up  by  the  people, 
who  swore  to  die  in  their  defence  sooner  than  to  submit 
to  the  will  of  the  Convention;  the  noise  of  drums  and 
trumpets  was  heard  in  every  street;  all  the  horrors  and 
cruelties  of  a  civil  war  once  more  filled  the  capital  of  the 
revolution,  and  the  city  was  drunk  with  blood  ! 

The  people  fought  with  the  courage  of  despair,  pressed 
on  victoriously,  and  won  from  General  Menou  a  few  streets ; 
whole  battalions  of  the  National  Guards  abandoned  the 
troops  of  the  Convention  and  went  over  to  the  sections. 
General  Menou  found  himself  in  so  dangerous  a  position  as 
to  be  forced  to  conclude  an  armistice  until  the  next  day 
with  the  Section  Lepelletier,  which  was  opposed  to  him,  up 
to  which  time  the  troops  on  either  side  were  to  suspend 
operations. 

The  Section  Lepelletier  declared  itself  at  once  en  per- 
manence^ sent  her  delegates  to  all  the  other  sections,  and 
called  upon  "  the  sovereign  people,  whose  rights  the  Con- 
vention wished  to  usurp,"  to  make  a  last  and  decisive 
struggle. 

The  Convention  found  itself  in  the  most  alarming  posi- 
tion ;  it  trembled  for  its  very  existence,  and  already  in  fancy 
saw  again  the  days  of  terror,  the  guillotine  rising  and  claim- 
ing for  its  first  victims  the  heads  of  the  members  of  the 
Convention.  A  pallid  fear  overspread  all  faces  as  constantly 
fresh  news  of  the  advance  of  the  sections  reached  them, 
when  General  Menou  sent  news  of  the  concluded  armistice. 

At  this  moment  a  pale  young  man  rushed  into  the  hall 
of  session,  and  with  glowing  eloquence  and  persuasive  man- 
ner entreated  the  Convention  not  to  accept  the  armistice, 
not  to  give  time  to  the  sections  to  increase  their  strength, 


THE  THIRTEENTH  VENDfiMlAlRE.  229 

nor  to  recognize  them  as  a  hostile  power  to  war  against  the 
government. 

This  pale  young  man — whose  impassioned  language  filled 
the  minds  of  all  his  hearers  with  animosity  against  General 
Menou,  and  with  fresh  courage  and  desire  to  fight — was 
Napoleon  Bonaparte. 

After  he  had  spoken,  other  representatives  rushed  to  the 
tribune,  to  make  propositions  to  the  Assembly,  all  their 
motions  converging  to  the  same  end — all  desired  to  have 
General  Menou  placed  under  arrest,  and  Bonaparte  ap- 
pointed in  his  place,  and  intrusted  with  the  defence  of  the 
Convention  and  of  the  legislative  power  against  the  people. 

The  Assembly  accepted  this  motion,  and  appointed  Bona- 
parte commanding  officer  of  the  troops  of  the  Convention, 
and,  for  form's  sake,  named  Barras,  president  of  the  Con- 
vention, commander-in-chief. 

Bonaparte  accepted  the  commission ;  and  now,  at  last, 
after  so  much  waiting,  so  many  painful  months  of  inactivity, 
he  found  himself  called  to  action ;  he  stood  again  at  the 
head  of  an  army,  however  small  it  might  be,  and  could 
again  lift  up  the  sword  as  the  signal  for  the  march  to  the 
fight. 

It  is  true  this  fight  had  a  sad,  horrible  purpose ;  it  was 
directed  against  the  people,  against  the  sections  which  de- 
clared themselves  to  be  the  committee  of  the  sovereign  peo- 
ple, and  that  they  were  fighting  the  holy  fight  of  freedom 
against  those  who  usurped  their  rights. 

General  Bonaparte  had  refused  to  go  to  Vendue,  because 
he  wished  not  to  fight  against  his  own  countrymen,  and 
could  not  take  part  in  a  civil  war  ;  but  now,  at  this  hour  of 
extreme  peril,  he  placed  himself  in  opposition  to  the  peo- 
ple's sovereignty,  and  assumed  command  over  the  troops  of 
the  Convention,  whose  mission  it  was  to  subdue  the  people. 

Every  thing  now  assumed  a  more  earnest  attitude  ;  dur- 
ing the  night  the  newly-appointed  commanding  officer  sent 


230  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE, 

three  hundred  chasseurs,  under  Murat,  to  bring  to  Paris  forty 
cannon  from  the  park  of  artillery  in  Sablons,  and,  when  the 
morning  of  the  13th  Vendemiaire  began  to  dawn,  the  pieces 
were  already  in  position  in  the  court  of  the  Tuileries  and 
pointed  against  the  people.  Besides  which,  General  Bona- 
parte had  taken  advantage  of  the  night  to  occupy  all  the" 
important  points  and  places,  and  to  arm  them ;  even  into 
the  hall  of  session  of  the  Convention  he  ordered  arms  and 
ammunition  to  be  brought,  that  the  representatives  might 
defend  themselves,  in  case  they  were  pressed  upon  by  the 
people. 

As  the  sun  of  the  13th  Vendemiaire  rose  over  Paris,  a 
terrible  street-fight  began — the  fight  of  the  sovereign  people 
against  the  Convention.  It  was  carried  on  by  both  sides 
with  the  utmost  bitterness  and  fierceness,  the  sections  rush- 
ing with  fanatic  courage,  with  all  the  energy  of  hatred, 
against  these  soldiers  who  dared  slay  their  brothers  and  bind 
their  liberty  in  chains ;  •  the  soldiers  of  the  Convention 
fought  with  all  the  bitterness  which  the  consciousness  of 
their  hated  position  instilled  into  them. 

The  cannon  thundered  in  every  street  and  mingled  their 
sounds  with  the  cries  of  rage  from  the  sectionnaires — the 
bowlings  of  the  women,  the  whiz  of  the  howitzers,  the  loud 
clangs  of  the  bells,  which  incessantly  called  the  pe<^le  to 
arms.  Streams  of  blood  flowed  again  through  the  streets ; 
everywhere,  near  the  scattered  barricades,  near  the  houses 
captured  by  storm,  lay  bloody  corpses ;  everywhere  resound- 
ed the  cries  of  the  dying,  the  shrieks  and  groans  of  the 
wounded,  the  wild  shouts  of  the  combatants.  In  the  Church 
of  St.  Roche,  and  in  the  Th6dtre  Fran9aise,  the  sectionnaires, 
driven  from  the  neighboring  streets  by  the  troops  of  General 
Bonaparte,  had  gathered  together  and  endeavored  to  defend 
these  places  with  the  courage  of  despair.  But  the  howitzers 
of  Bonaparte  soon  scattered  them,  and  the  contest  was  de- 
cided. 


THE  WIDOW  JOSEPHINE  BEAUHARNAIS.         231 

The  sections  were  defeated ;  the  people,  conquered  by 
the  Convention,  had  to  recognize  its  authority ;  they  were  no 
more  the  sovereigns  of  France ;  they  had  found  a  ruler  be- 
fore whom  they  must  bow. 

This  ruler  was  yet  called  the  Convention,  but  behind  the 
Convention  stood  another  ruler — General  Bonaparte ! 

It  was  he  who  had  defeated  the  people,  who  had  secured 
the  authority  to  the  Convention,  and  it  was  therefore  natural 
that  it  should  be  thankful  and  exhibit  its  gratitude.  Gen- 
eral Bonaparte,  in  acknowledgment  for  the  great  services 
done  to  his  country,  was  by  the  Convention  appointed  com- 
mander-in-chief of  the  army  of  the  interior,  and  thus  sud- 
denly he  saw  himself  raised  from  degrading  obscurity  to 
pomp  and  influence,  surrounded  by  a  brilliant  staff,  installed 
in  a  handsome  palace  by  virtue  of  his  office  as  chief  officer, 
entitled  to  and  justified  in  maintaining  an  establishment 
wherein  to  represent  worthily  the  dignity  of  his  new  posi- 
tion. 

The  13th  Vend^miaire,  which  dethroned  the  sovereign 
people,  brought  General  Bonaparte  a  step  nearer  to  the 
throne. 


CHAPTEE  XX. 

THE  VflDOW   JOSEPHINE    BEAUHARNAIS. 

Meanwhile  Josephine  had  passed  the  first  months  of 
her  newly-obtained  freedom  in  quiet  contentment  with  her 
children  in  Fontainebleau,  at  the  house  of  her  father-in-law. 
Her  soul,  bowed  down  by  so  much  misery  and  pain,  needed 
quietness  and  solitude  to  allow  her  wounds  to  cease  bleeding 
and  to  heal ;  her  heart,  which  had  experienced  so  much  an- 
guish and  so  many  deceptions,  needed  to  rest  on  the  bosom 
of  her  children  and  her  relatives,  so  as  to  be  quickened  into 
16 


282  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

new  life.  Only  in  the  solitude  and  stillness  of  Fontainebleau 
did  she  feel  well  and  satisfied ;  every  other  distraction,  every 
interruption  of  this  quiet,  orderly  existence  brought  on  a 
nervous  trembling,  which  mastered  her  whole  body,  as  if 
some  other  adversity  was  about  to  break  upon  her.  The 
days  of  terror  which  she  had  passed  in  Paris,  and  especially 
the  days  she  had  outlived  in  prison,  were  ever  fresh  before 
her  mind,  and  tormented  her  with  their  reminiscences  alike 
in  her  vigils  and  in  her  dreams. 

She  wanted  to  hear  nothing  of  the  world's  events,  noth- 
ing from  Paris,  the  mention  of  which  place  filled  her  with 
fear  and  horror ;  and  with  tears  in  her  eyes  she  entreated 
her  father-in-law  to  omit  all  mention  of  the  political  changes 
and  revolutions  which  took  place  there. 

But,  alas!  the  politics  from  which  Josephine  fled,  to 
which  she  closed  her  ears,  rushed  upon  her  against  her  will 
— they  came  to  her  in  the  shape  of  want  and  privation. 

Josephine,  who  wished  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
the  affairs  of  this  world,  learned,  through  the  deprivations 
which  she  had  to  endure,  the  want  to  which  she  and  her 
family  were  exposed,  that  the  world  had  not  yet  been  pushed 
back  into  the  old  grooves,  out  of  which  the  revolution  had 
80  violently  lifted  it  up ;  that  the  republic  yet  exercised  a 
despotic  authority,  and  was  not  prepared  to  return  to  the 
heirs  the  property  of  the  victims  of  the  guillotine !  The  in- 
come and  property  of  General  Beauharnais  had  all  been  con- 
fiscated by  the  republic,  for  he  had  been  executed  as  a  state 
criminal,  and  the  procedure  had  this  in  common  with  the 
ordinary  actions  of  the  government,  that  it  never  returned 
what  it  had  once  usurped.  Even  Josephine's  father-in-law, 
as  well  as  her  aunt — Madame  de  Renaudin,  who,  after  her 
husband's  death,  had  been  married  to  the  Marquis  de  Beau- 
harnais— had  both  in  the  revolutionary  storms  lost  all  their 
property,  and  saw  themselves  reduced  to  the  last  extremity. 
They  lived  from  day  to  day  with  the  greatest  economy,  upon 


THE   WIDOW  JOSEPHINE  BEAUHARNAIS.         233 

the  smallest  means,  and  flattered  themselves  with  the  hope 
that  justice  would  be  done  to  the  innocent  victims  of  the 
revolution ;  that  at  last  to  the  widow  and  children  of  the 
murdered  General  Beauharnais  his  income  and  property 
would  be  returned. 

Another  hope  remained  to  Josephine  :  peliance  upon  her 
relatives,  especially  upon  her  mother  in  Martinique.  She 
had  written  to  her  as  soon  as  she  had  obtained  her  liberty ; 
she  had  entreated  her  mother,  who  had  been  a  widow  for 
two  years,  to  rent  all  her  property  in  Martinique,  and  to 
come  to  France,  and  at  her  daughter's  side  to  enjoy  a  few 
quiet  years  of  domestic  happiness. 

But  this  hope  also  was  to  be  destroyed,  for  the  revolution 
in  Martinique  had  committed  the  same  devastations  as  in 
France,  and  the  burning  houses  of  their  masters  had  been  the 
bonfires  whose  flames  were  sent  up  to  heaven  by  the  newly- 
freed  slaves  in  the  name  of  the  republic  and  of  the  rights 
of  man.  Madame  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie  had  experienced 
the  same  fate  as  all  the  planters  in  Martinique ;  her  house 
and  outbuildings  had  been  burnt,  her  plantations  destroyed, 
and  a  long  time  would  be  required  before  the  flelds  could 
again  be  made  to  produce  a  harvest.  Until  then,  Madame 
Tascher  would  be  sorely  limited  in  her  means,  and,  if  she 
did  not  succeed  in  selling  some  of  her  property  and  raising 
funds,  would  be  without  the  money  necessary  to  bring  under 
cultivation  the  remnant  of  her  large  plantation.  She  was, 
therefore,  not  immediately  prepared  to  supply  her  daughter 
with  any  considerable  assistance,  and  Josephine  endured  the 
anguish  of  seeing  not  only  herself  and  children,  but  also  her 
dear  mother,  suffer  through  want  and  privation. 

To  the  need  of  gold  to  procure  bare  necessaries,  was  soon 
added  the  very  lack  of  them.  Famine,  with  all  its  horrors, 
was  at  hand ;  the  people  were  clamoring  for  food,  and  the 
land-owners  as  well  as  the  rich  were  suffering  from  the  want 
of  that  prime  necessary  of  life — bread!    The  Convention 


234  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

had  adopted  no  measures  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  howl- 
ing populace,  and  it  had  to  remain  contented  with  making 
accessible  to  all  such  provisions  as  were  in  the  land.  One 
law,  therefore,  ordered  all  land-owners  to  deliver  to  the  state 
their  stores  of  meal;  a  second  law  prohibited  any  person 
from  buying  more  than  one  pound  of  bread  on  the  same  day. 
The  greatest  delicacy  in  those  days  of  common  wretchedness 
was  white  bread,  and  there  were  many  families  that  for  a 
long  time  were  unable  to  procure  this  luxury. 

Josephine  herself  had  with  many  others  to  endure  this 
privation :  the  costly  white  loaf  was  beyond  her  reach.  In 
her  depressed  and  sad  lot  the  unfortunate  widowed  viscount- 
ess remained  in  possession  of  a  treasure  for  which  many  of 
the  wealthy  and  high-bom  longed  in  vain,  and  which  neither 
gold  nor  wealth  could  procure — Josephine  possessed  friends, 
true,  devoted  friends,  who  forsook  her  not  in  the  day  of 
need,  but  stood  the  more  closely  at  her  side,  helping  and 
loving. 

Among  these  friends  were,  above  all,  Madame  Dumoulin 
and  M.  Emery.  Madame  Dumoulin,  the  wife  of  a  wealthy 
purveyor  of  the  republican  army,  was  at  heart  a  true  royal- 
ist, and  had  made  it  her  mission,  as  much  as  was  within  her 
power,,  to  assist  with  her  means  the  most  destitute  from 
whom  the  revolution  had  taken  their  family  joys  and  prop- 
erty. She  aided  with  money  and  clothing  the  unfortunate 
emigrants,  who,  as  prominent  and  influential  friends  of  the 
king  and  of  Old  France,  had  abandoned  their  country,  and 
who  now,  as  nameless,  wretched  beggars,  returned  home  to 
beg  of  New  France  the  privilege  at  least  to  hunger  and 
starve,  and  at  last  to  die  in  their  motherland.  Madame 
Dumoulin  had  always  an  open  house  for  those  aristocrats 
and  ci-devants  who  had  the  courage  not  to  emigrate  and  to 
bow  their  despised  heads  to .  all  the  fluctuations  of  the  re- 
public, and  had  remained  in  France,  though  deprived  by  the 
republic  of  their  ancestral  ii!xines,  property,  and  rank.    Those 


THE   WIDOW  JOSEPHINE  BEAUHARNAIS.         235 

aristocrats  who  had  not  migrated  found  a  friendly  reception 
,  in  the  house  of  the  witty  and  amiable  Madame  Dumoulin, 
and  twice  a  week  she  gathered  those  friends  of  the  ancien 
regime  to  a  dinner,  which  was  prepared  with  all  the  luxury 
of  former  days,  and  which  offered  to  her  friends,  besides 
material  enjoyment,  the  pleasures  of  an  agreeable  and  at- 
tractive company. 

Among  Madame  Dumoulin's  friends  who  never  failed 
to  be  present  at  these  dinners  was  Josephine  de  Beauharnais, 
of  whom  Madame  Dumoulin  said  she  was  the  sunbeam  of 
her  drawing-room,  for  she  warmed  and  vitalized  all  hearts. 
But  this  sunbeam  had  not  the  power  to  bring  forth  out  of 
the  unfruitful  soil  of  the  fatherland  a  few  ears  of  wheat  to 
turn  its  flour  into  white  bread.  As  every  one  was  allowed 
to  buy  bread  only  according  to  the  numbers  in  the  house- 
hold, Madame  Dumoulin  could  not  give  to  her  guests  at 
dinner  any  white  bread,  and  on  her  cards  of  invitation  was 
the  then  usual  form,  "  You  are  invited  to  bring  a  loaf  of 
white  bread." 

But  it  was  beyond  the  means  of  the  poor  Viscountess  de 
Beauharnais  to  fulfil  this  invitation  ;  her  purse  was  not  suf- 
ficient to  afford  her  twice  a  week  the  luxury  of  white  bread. 
Madame  Dumoulin,  who  knew  this,  came  kindly  to  the  res- 
cue of  Josephine's  distress,  and  entreated  her  not  to  trouble 
herself  with  bringing  bread,  but  to  allow  her  to  procure  it 
for  her  friend. 

Josephine  accepted  this  offer  with  tears  of  emotion,  and 
she  never  forgot  the  goodness  and  kindness  of  Madame  Du- 
moulin. In  the  days  of  her  highest  glory  she  remembered 
her,  and  once,  when  empress,  radiant  with  jewels  and  orna- 
ments of  gold,  as  she  stood  in  the  midst  of  her  court,  related 
with  a  bewitching  smile,  to  the  ladies  around  her,  that  there 
was  a  time  when  she  would  have  given  a  year  of  her  life  to 
possess  but  one  of  those  jewels,  not  to  adorn  herself  there- 
with, but  to  sell  it,  so  as  to  buy  bread  for  her  children,  and 


^86  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

that  in  those  days  the  excellent  Madame  Damoulin  had 
been  a  benefactress  to  her,  and  that  she  had  received  at  her 
hands  the  bread  of  charity.* 

The  same  abiding  friendship  was  shown  to  Josephine 
by  M.  Emery,  a  banker  who  had  a  considerable  business  in 
Dunkirk,  and  who  for  many  years  had  been  in  mercantile 
relations  with  the  family  of  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie  in  Mar- 
tinique. Madame  de  la  Pagerie  had  every  year  sent  him 
the  produce  of  her  sugar  plantations,  and  he  had  attended 
to  the  sale  to  the  largest  houses  in  Germany.  He  knew 
better  than  any  one  else  the  pecuniary  circumstances  of  the 
Pagerie  family ;  he  knew  that,  if  at  present  Madame  de  la 
Pagerie  could  not  repay  his  advanced  sums,  her  plantations 
would  soon  produce  a  rich  harvest,  and  even  now  be  a  suffi- 
cient security.  M.  Emery  was  therefore  willing  to  assist 
the  daughter  of  Madame  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie,  and  several 
times  he  advanced  to  Josephine  considerable  sums  which 
she  had  drawn  upon  her  mother. 

The  cares  of  every-day  life,  its  physical  necessities,  lifted 
Josephine  out  of  the  sad  melancholy  in  which  she  had  lulled 
her  sick,  wounded  heart,  within  the  solitude  of  Fontaine- 
bleau.  She  must  not  settle  down  in  this  inactive  twilight, 
nor  wrap  herself  up  in  the  gloomy  gray  veil  of  widowhood ! 
Life  had  still  claims  upon  her ;  it  called  to  her  through  her 
children's  voices,  for  whom  she  had  a  future  to  provide,  as 
well  as  through  the  voice  of  her  own  youth,  which  she  must 
not  intrust  hopelessly  to  the  gloomy  Fontainebleau. 

And  the  young  mother  dared  not  and  wanted  not  to 
close  her  ears  to  these  calls ;  she  arose  from  her  supineness, 
and  courageously  resolved  to  begin  anew  life's  battle,  and  to 
claim  her  share  from  the  enjoyments  and  pleasures  of  this 
world. 

She  first,  by  the  advice  of  M.  Emery,  undertook  a  jour- 

♦  "  Memoires  sur  I'lmperatrice  Josephine,"  par  Mad.  Ducrest,  chap 
xzxtL  ^ 


THE  WIDOW  JOSEPHINE  BEAUHARNAIS.         237 

ney  to  Hamburg,  to  make  some  arrangements  with  the  rich 
and  highly  respectable  banking-house  of  Mathiesen  and 
Sissen.  Mathiesen,  the  banker,  who  had  married  a  niece  of 
Madame  de  Genlis,  had  always  shown  the  greatest  hospitality 
to  all  Frenchmen  who  had  applied  to  him,  and  he  had  as- 
iisted  them  with  advice  and  deeds.  To  him  Josephine  ap- 
pealed, at  the  request  of  M.  Emery,  so  as  to  procure  a  safe 
opportunity  to  send  letters  to  her  mother  in  Martinique, 
and  also  to  obtain  from  him  funds  on  bills  drawn  upon  her 
mother. 

M.  Mathiesen  met  her  wishes  with  a  generous  pleasure, 
and  through  him  Josephine  received  sufficient  sums  of 
money  to  protect  her  from  further  embarrassments  and 
anxieties,  at  least  until  her  mother,  who  was  on  the  eve 
of  selling  a  portion  of  her  plantation,  could  send  her  some 
money. 

On  her  return  from  her  business- journey  to  Hamburg, 
as  she  was  no  longer  a  poor  widow  without  means,  she 
adopted  the  courageous  resolution  of  leaving  her  asylum 
and  returning  to  dangerous  and  deserted  Paris,  there  to 
prepare  for  her  son  an  honorable  future,  and  endeavor  to 
procure  for  her  daughter  an  education  suited  to  her  rank 
and  capacities. 

At  the  end  of  the  year  1795,  Josephine  returned  with 
her  two  children  to  Paris,  which  one  year  before  she  had 
left  so  sorrowfully  and  so  dispirited. 

What  changes  had  been  wrought  during  this  one  year  J 
How  the  face  of  things  had  been  altered !  The  revolution 
had  bled  to  death.  The  thirteenth  Vend6miaire  had  scat- 
tered to  the  winds  the  seditious  elements  of  revolution,  and 
the  republic  was  beginning  quietly  and  peacefully  to  grow 
into  stature.  The  Convention,  with  its  Mountain,  its  ter- 
rorists, its  Committee  of  Safety,  its  persecutions  and  execu- 
tions, had  outlived  its  power,  which  it  had  consigned  to  the 
pages  of  history  with  so  many  tears  and  so  much  blood.    In 


238  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

a  strange  contradiction  with  its  own  bloody  deeds,  it  cele- 
brated the  last  day  of  its  existence  by  a  law  which,  as  a  fare- 
well to  the  thousand  corpses  it  had  sacrificed  to  the  revolu- 
tion, it  had  printed  on  its  gory  brow.  On  the  day  of  its 
dissolution  the  Convention  gave  to  France  this  last  law: 
*'  Capital  punishment  is  forever  abolished."  * 

"With  this  farewell  kiss,  this  love-salutation  to  the  France 
of  the  future,  to  the  new  self-informing  France,  the  Conven- 
tion dissolved  itself,  and  in  its  stead  came  the  Council  of 
Elders,  the  Council  of  Five  Hundred,  and  lastly  the  Direc- 
tory, composed  of  five  members,  among  whom  had  been 
elected  the  more  eminent  members  of  the  Convention, 
namely,  Barras  and  Carnot. 

Josephine's  first  movement  in  Paris  was  to  find  the 
lovely  friend  whom  she  made  in  the  Carmelite  prison,  and 
to  whom  she  in  some  measure  owed  her  life,  to  visit  Therese 
de  Fontenay  and  see  if  the  heart  of  the  beautiful,  celebrated 
woman  had  in  its  days  of  happiness  and  power  retained  its 
remembrances  of  those  of  wretchedness  and  mortal  fears. 

Therese  de  Fontenay  was  now  the  wife  of  Tallien,  who, 
elected  to  the  Council  of  the  Five  Hundred,  continued  to 
play  an  influential  and  important  part,  and  therefore  had 
his  court  of  flatterers  and  time-serving  friends  as  well  as 
any  ruling  prince.  His  house  was  one  of  the  most  splendid 
in  Paris;  the  feasts  and  banquets  which  took  place  there 
reminded  one,  by  their  extravagant  magnificence,  of  the 
days  of  ancient  Rome,  and  that  this  remembrance  might 
still  be  more  striking,  ladies  in  the  rich,  costly  costumes  of 
patrician  matrons  of  ancient  Rome  appeared  at  those  festiv- 
ities not  unworthy  of  a  Lucullus.  Madame  Tallien — in  the 
ample  robe  of  wrought  gold  of  a  Roman  empress,  shod  with 
light  sandals,  from  which  issued  the  beautiful  naked  feet, 
and  the  toes  adorned  with  costly  rings,  her  exquisitely 

*  Norrins,  "  Histoire  de  Napoleon,"  vol.  i.,  p.  82. 


THE  WIDOW  JOSEPHINE  BEAUHARNAIS.         239 

moulded  arms  ornamented  with  massive  gold  bracelets ;  her 
short  curly  hair  fastened  together  by  a  gold  bandelet,  which 
rose  over  the  forehead  in  the  shape  of  a  diadem,  bejewelled 
with  precious  diamonds ;  the  mantle  of  purple,  fringed  with 
gold  and  placed  on  the  shoulders — was  in  this  costume  of 
such  a  wonderful  beauty,  that  men  gazed  at  her  with  aston- 
ishment and  women  wiih  envy. 

And  this  beautiful  woman,  often  worshipped  and  adored, 
though  sometimes  slandered,  had  amid  her  triumphs  kept  a 
faithful  remembrance  of  the  past.  She  received  Josephine 
with  the  affection  of  a  true  friend.  In  her  generosity  she 
allowed  her  no  time  to  proffer  any  request,  but  came  for- 
ward herself  with  offers  to  intercede  for  her  friend,  and  to 
use  all  the  means  at  her  disposal,  omitting  nothing  that 
would  help  Josephine  to  recover  her  fortune,  her  lost  prop- 
erty. With  all  the  eagerness  of  true  love  she  took  the  arm 
of  her  friend  and  led  her  to  Tallien,  and  with  the  enchant- 
ing smile  and  attitude  of  a  commanding  princess  she  told 
him  that  he  must  help  Josephine  to  become  happy  again, 
that  every  thing  he  could  do  for  her  would  be  rewarded  by 
an  increasing  love ;  that  if  he  did  not  do  justice  to  Jose- 
phine, she  would  punish  him  by  her  anger  and  coldness. 

Tallien  listened  with  complacency  to  the  praiseworthy 
commands  of  his  worshipped  Therese,  and  promised  to  use 
all  his  influence  to  have  justice  done  to  the  will  of  the  sac- 
rificed General  de  Beauharnais.  He  himself  accompanied 
Josephine  to  Barras,  that  she  might  present  her  application 
to  him  personally  and  request  at  his  hands  restitution  of 
her  property.  She  was  received  by  Barras,  as  well  as  by  the 
other  four  directors,  with  the  greatest  politeness;  each 
promised  to  attend  to  her  case  and  to  return  to  the  widow 
and  to  the  children  of  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  the  prop- 
erty which  had  been  so  unjustly  taken  from  them. 

It  is  true,  weeks  and  months  of  waiting  and  uncertainty 
passed  away,  but  Josephine  had  hope  for  a  comforter ;  she 


240  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

had,  besides,  her  beautiful  friend  Therese  Tallien,  who  with 
affectionate  eloquence  endeavored  to  instil  courage  into 
Josephine,  and  by  her  constant  petitions  and  prayers  did 
not  allow  the  Directory,  amid  its  many  important  affairs  of 
government,  to  forget  the  case  of  the  poor  young  widow. 
Therese  took  care  also  that  Josephine  should  appear  in 
society  at  the  receptions  and  balls  given  by  the  members  of 
the  new  government ;  and  when  made  timid  through  mis- 
fortune, and  depressed  at  heart  by  the  uncertainty  of  her 
narrow  lot,  she  desired  to  keep  aloof  from  these  rejoicings, 
Therese  knew  how  to  convince  her  that  she  must  sacrifice  her 
love  of  retirement  to  her  children ;  that  it  was  her  duty  to 
accept  the  invitations  of  the  Directory,  so  as  to  keep  alive 
their  interest  and  favor  in  her  behalf ;  and  that,  were  she 
to  retreat  into  solitude  and  obscurity,  she  would  thereby 
imperil  her  future  and  that  of  her  children. 

Josephine  submitted  to  this  law  of  necessity,  and  ap- 
peared in  society.  She  screened  her  cares  and  her  heart- 
sores  under  the  covert  of  smiles,  she  forced  herself  into 
cheerfulness,  and  when  now  and  then  the  smile  vanished 
from  her  lip  and  tears  filled  her  eyes,  she  thought  of  her 
children,  and,  mastering  her  sorrows,  she  was  again  the 
beautiful,  lovely  woman,  whose  elegant  manners  and  lively 
and  witty  conversation  charmed  and  astonished  every  one. 

At  last,  after  long  months  of  uncertainty,  Therese  Tal- 
lien, her  face  beaming  with  joy,  came  one  morning  to  visit 
her  friend  Josephine,  and  presented  to  her  a  paper  with  a 
large  seal,  which  Tallien  had  given  her  that  very  morning. 

It  was  an  order,  signed  by  the  five  directors,  instructing 
the  administrator  of  the  domains  to  relieve  the  capital  and 
the  property  of  General  Beauhamais  from  the  sequestration 
laid  upon  them,  and  also  to  remove  the  seals  from  his  fur- 
niture and  his  movables,  and  to  reinstate  the  Widow  Beau- 
hamais in  possession  of  all  the  property  left  by  her  husband. 

Josephine  received  this  paper  with  tears  of  joy,  and,  full 


THE  NEW  PARIS.  241 

of  religious,  devout  gratitude,  she  fell  on  her  knees  and 
cried : 

"  I  thank  Thee,  my  God !  I  thank  Thee !  My  children 
will  no  more  suffer  from  want,  and  now  I  can  give  them 
a  suitable  education." 

She  then  fell  upon  her  friend's  neck,  thanking  her  for 
her  faithfulness,  and  swore  her  everlasting  friendship  and 
affection. 

The  dark  clouds  which  had  so  long  overshadowed  Jose- 
phine's life  were  now  gone,  and  in  its  place  dawned  day, 
bright  and  clear. 

But  the  sun  which  was  to  illumine  this  day  with  won- 
drous glory  had  not  yet  appeared.  Therese  at  this  hour 
reminded  her  friend  of  a  day  in  prison  when  Josephine 
had  assured  her  friends  trembling  for  her  life  that  she 
was  not  going  to  die,  that  she  would  one  day  be  Queen  of 
France. 

"Yes,"  said  Josephine,  smiling  and  thoughtful,  "who 
knows  if  this  prophecy  will  not  be  fulfilled  ?  To-day  be- 
gins for  me  a  new  life.  I  have  done  with  the  past,  and 
it  will  sink  behind  me  in  the  abyss  of  oblivion.  I  trust  in 
the  future  !  It  must  repay  me  for  all  the  tears  and  anxieties 
of  my  past  life,  and  who  knows  if  it  will  not  erect  me  a 
throne?" 


OHAPTEK  XXI. 

THE  NEW   PAEIS. 


Yes,  they  were  now  ended,  the  days  of  sufferings  and 
privations  !  The  wife  of  General  Beauharnais  was  no  more 
the  poor  widow  who  appeared  as  a  petitioner  in  the  draw- 
ing-rooms of  the  members  of  the  Directory,  and  often 
obliged,  even  in  the  worst  kind  of  weather,  to  go  on  foot 


242  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE 

to  the  festivals  of  Madame  Tallien,  because  she  lacked  the 
means  to  pay  for  a  cab ;  she  was  no  longer  the  poor  mother 
who  had  to  be  satisfied  to  procure  inferior  teachers  for  her 
children,  because  she  could  not  possibly  pay  superior  ones. 

Now,  as  by  a  spell,  all  was  changed,  and  gold  was  the 
magic  wand  which  had  produced  it.  Thanks  to  this  talis- 
man, the  Viscountess  de  Beauharnais  could  now  quit  the 
email,  remote,  gloomy  dwelling  in  which  she  had  hitherto 
resided,  and  could  again  procure  a  house,  gather  society 
round  about  her,  and,  above  all  things,  provide  for  the  edu- 
cation of  her  children. 

This  was  her  dearest  duty,  her  most  important  obliga- 
tion, with  which  she  busied  herself  even  before  she  rented 
a  modestly-furnished  room.  Her  Eugene,  the  darling  of 
her  heart,  desired  like  his  father  to  devote  himself  to  a 
military  life,  and  his  mother  took  him  to  a  boarding-school 
in  St.  Germain,  where  young  men  of  distinguished  families 
received  their  education.  Her  twelve-year-old  daughter 
Hortense,  of  whom  Josephine  had  said,  "  She  is  my  angel 
with  the  gold  locks,  who  alone  can  smile  away  the  tears 
from  my  eyes  and  sorrow  from  my  heart " — Hortense  en- 
tered the  newly-opened  educational  establishment  of  Ma- 
dame Campan,  once  the  lady-in-waiting  of  Marie  Antoinette. 
Josephine  wept  hot  tears  as  she  accompanied  her  Hortense 
into  the  boarding-school,  and,  embracing  her  blond  curly- 
haired  angel,  she  closely  pressed  her  to  her  heart,  and 
said : 

"Judge  how  much  I  love  you,  my  daughter,  since  I 
have  the  courage  to  leave  you  and  to  deprive  myself  of  the 
greatest  of  my  life's  enjoyments !  Ah,  I  shall  be  very  lone- 
some, Hortense,  but  my  thoughts  will  be  with  you  con- 
tinually— with  you  and  your  brother  Eugene.  Live  to  be 
an  honor  to  your  father,  grow  and  prosper  to  be  your 
mother's  happiness ! " 

Then  with  a  kiss  she  took  leave  of  her  daughter,  and 


THE  NEW  PARIS.  243 

comfortless  and  alone  she  returned  to  her  solitary  apart- 
ments in  Paris. 

During  the  next  eight  days  her  doors  were  shut;  she 
opened  them  to  none,  not  even  to  her  friend  Therese,  and 
not  once  did  Josephine  leave  her  dwelling  during  this  time, 
nor  did  she  accept  any  of  the  invitations  which  came  to  her 
from  all  sides. 

Her  heart  was  yet  wrapped  in  mourning  for  her  separa- 
tion from  her  children,  and,  with  all  the  intensity  of  an  affec- 
tionate mother's  love,  she  preferred  leaving  her  anguish  to 
die  out  of  itself  than  to  suppress  it  with  amusements  and 
pleasures. 

But  after  this  last  sorrow  had  been  overcome,  Josephine, 
with  serenity  and  a  smile  of  cheerfulness,  came  again  from 
her  solitude  into  the  world  which  called  her  forth  with  all 
its  voices  of.  joy,  pleasure,  and  flattery.  And  Josephine  no 
longer  closed  her  ears  to  these  sweet  attractive  voices.  She 
had  long  enough  suffered,  wept,  fasted ;  now  she  ought  to 
reap  enjoyments,  and  gather  her  portion  of  this  life's  pleas- 
ures ;  now  she  must  live !  The  past  had  set  behind  her, 
and,  as  one  new-born  or  risen  from  the  dead,  Josephine 
walked  into  the  world  with  a  young  maiden  heart,  and  a 
mind  opened  to  all  that  is  beautiful,  great,  and  good ;  her 
soul  filled  with  visions,  hopes,  desires,  and  dreams.  Out  of 
the  widow's  veil  came  forth  the  young,  charming  creple,  and 
her  radiant  eyes  saluted  the  world  with  intelligent  looks  and 
an  expression  of  the  most  attractive  goodness. 

Her  next  care  was  to  procure  a  pleasant,  convenient  home 
suited  to  her  rank.  She  purchased  from  the  actor  Talma  a 
house  which  he  possessed  in  the  Street  Chautereine,  and 
where  he  had,  during  the  storms  of  the  revolution,  received 
his  friends  as  well  as  all  the  literary,  artistic,  and  political 
notables  of  the  day  with  the  kindest  hospitality.  It  was  not 
a  brilliant,  distinguished  hotel,  no  splendid  building,  but  a 
small,   tastefully  and   conveniently  arranged   house,   with 


244  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

pretty  rooms,  a  cheerful  drawing-room,  lovely  garden,  ex- 
actly suited  to  have  therein  a  quiet,  agreeable,  informal  pas- 
time. Josephine  possessed  in  the  highest  degree  the  art  of 
her  sex  to  furnish  rooms  with  elegance  and  taste,  so  as  to 
make  every  one  in  them  comfortable,  satisfied,  at  ease,  and 
cheerful. 

The  drawing-room  of  the  widow  of  General  Beauharnais 
became  soon  the  central  point  where  all  her  friends  of  for- 
mer days  found  themselves  together  again,  and  all  the  rem- 
nants of  the  good  old  society  found  reception;  where  the 
learned,  the  artist,  the  poet,  met  with  a  refuge,  there  to  rest 
for  a  few  hours  from  political  strife,  to  put  aside  the  ser- 
pent's skin  of  assumed  republican  manners,  and  again  assume 
the  tone  and  forms  of  the  higher  society.  Such  drawing- 
rooms  in  these  revolutionary  days  were  extremely  few ;  no 
one  dared  to  become  conspicuous;  every  one  was  reserved 
and  quiet ;  every  one  shrank  from  making  himself  suspected 
of  being  a  ci-devant,  even  if  under  the  republican  toga  he 
left  visible  his  dress-coat  of  the  upper  society  with  its  em- 
broidery of  gold.  Men  had  entirely  broken  with  the  past, 
wishing  to  deny  it,  and  not  be  under  the  yoke  of  its  forms 
and  rules ;  it  was  therefore  necessary,  out  of  the  chaos  of  the 
republic,  to  create  a  new  world,  a  new  society,  new  forms  of 
etiquette,  and  new  fashions.  Meanwhile,  until  these  new 
fashions  for  republican  France  should  be  found,  men  had 
recourse  (so  as  not  to  go  back  to  the  days  of  the  late  mon- 
archy of  France)  to  the  republics  of  olden  times ;  the  ladies 
dressed  according  to  the  patterns  of  the  old  statues  of  the 
deities  of  Greece  and  Rome,  giving  receptions  in  the  style  of 
ancient  Greece,  and  banquets  laid  out  in  all  the  extravagant 
splendors  of  a  Lucullus. 

The  members  of  the  republican  Directory,  whose  resi- 
dence was  in  the  palace  of  the  Luxemburg,  took  the  lead  in 
all  these  neo-Grecian  and  neo-Roman  festivities ;  and,  where- 
as they  loudly  proclaimed  that  it  was  necessary  to  furnish 


THE  NEW  PARIS.  J45 

opportunities  to  the  working-classes  and  laborers  to  gain 
money,  and  that  it  was  incumbent  on  all  to  promote  indus- 
try, they  rivalled  each  other  in  their  efforts  to  exhibit  an 
extravagant  pomp  and  a  brilliant  display.  On  reception- 
days  of  the  members  of  the  Directory  the  public  streamed 
in  masses  toward  the  Luxemburg,  there  to  admire  the 
splendors  of  the  five  monarchs,  and  to  rejoice  that  the  days 
of  the  carmagnoles,  the  sans-culottes,  the  dirty  blouse,  and 
the  bonnet  rouge  were  at  least  gone  by.  The  five  directors, 
to  the  delight  of  the  Parisian  people,  wore  costly  silk  and 
velvet  garments  embroidered  with  gold,  and  on  their  hats, 
trimmed  also  with  gold  lace,  waved  large  ostrich-plumes. 

Luxury  celebrated  its  return  to  Paris,  after  having  had 
to  secrete  itself,  so  long  from  the  blood-stained  hands  of  the 
sans-culottes,  in  the  most  obscure  corners  of  the  deserted 
palaces  of  St.  Germain.  Pleasure,  which  had  fled  away 
horrified  from  the  guillotine  and  from  the  terrorists,  dared 
once  more  to  show  its  rose- wreathed  brow  and  smiling  coun- 
tenance, and  here  and  there  make  its  cheerful  festivities 
resound. 

Men  became  glad,  and  dared  to  laugh  again ;  they  came 
out  from  the  stillness  of  their  homes,  which  anxiety  had 
kept  closed,  to  search  for  amusement,  pleasure,  and  recrea- 
tion ;  but  no  citizen  dared  to  be  select,  none  dared  to  assume 
aristocratic  exclusiveness.  One  had  to  be  pleased  with  a 
dinner  at  a  tavern ;  with  a  glass  of  ice- water  in  a  cafe,  or  to 
take  part  in  a  public  ball  which  was  opened  to  every  one 
who  could  pay  his  fee  of  admission ;  and  especially  in  the 
evening  the  public  rushed  to  the  theatre  with  the  same 
eagerness  that  was  exhibited  in  the  morning  to  reach  the 
shops  of  the  bakers  and  butchers,  where  each  received  his 
portion  of  meat  or  bread  by  producing  a  card  signed  by  the 
circuit  commissioners.  In  front  of  these  shops,  as  well  as  in 
front  of  the  theatres,  the  pressure  was  so  great  that  for 
hours  it  was  necessary  to  fall  into  line,  and  sometimes  go 


246  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

away  dissatisfied ;  for  the  republic  had  yet  retained  the  sys- 
tem of  equality,  so  that  the  rich  and  the  influential  were  not 
served  any  sooner  than  the  poor  and  the  unknown ;  there 
was  only  one  exception:  only  one  condition  received  dis- 
tinction before  the  baker's  shop  and  the  theatre:  it  was 
that  of  the  mothers  of  the  future,  those  women  whose  exter- 
nal appearance  revealed  that  they  would  soon  bring  forth  a 
future  citizen,  a  new  soldier  for  the  republic,  which  had  lost 
so  many  of  its  sons  upon  the  scaffold  and  on  the  battle-field. 

It  was  so  long  that  one  had  been  deprived  of  laughter 
and  merriment,  and  had  walked  with  sad  countenance  and 
grave  solemnity  through  the  days  of  blood  and  terror,  that 
now  every  occasion  for  hilarity  was  received  eagerly  and 
thankfully,  and  every  opportunity  for  mirth  and  amusement 
sought  out  The  theatres  were  therefore  filled  every  evening 
with  an  attentive,  thankful  audience ;  every  jest  of  the  ac- 
tor, every  part  well  performed,  elicited  enthusiastic  approba- 
tion. It  is  true  no  one  yet  dared  act  any  other  pieces  than 
those  which  had  reference  to  the  revolution,  and  in  some 
shape  or  other  celebrated  the  republic,  accusing  and  vilifying 
the  royalists.  The  pieces  represented  were — "  The  Perfect 
Equality,"  or  else  "  Thee  and  Thou,"  "  The  Last  Trial  of 
the  Queen,"  "  Tarquin,  or  the  Fall  of  the  Monarchy,"  "  Ma- 
rat's Apotheosis,"  and  similar  dramas,  all  infused  with  re- 
publicanism ;  still,  men  faint  at  heart  and  satiated  with  the 
republic,  hastened  notwithstanding  to  the  theatre,  to  enjoy 
an  hour  of  recreation  and  merriment. 

To  be  cheerful,  happy,  and  joyous,  seemed  now  to  the 
Parisians  the  highest  duty  of  life,  and  every  thing  was  made 
subservient  to  it.  The  people  had  wept  and  mourned  so 
long,  that  now,  to  shake  off  this  oppressive  heaviness  of 
mind,  they  rushed  with  fanatical  precipitancy  into  pleasure ; 
they  gave  themselves  up  to  the  wildest  orgies  and  baccha- 
nals, and  without  disgust  or  shame  abandoned  themselves  to 
the  most  immoral  conduct.    All  tears  were  dried  up  as  if 


THE  NEW  PARIS.  247 

by  magic ;  honest  poverty  began  to  be  ashamed  of  itself ; 
and  the  wealth  so  carefully  hid  until  now,  was  again  brought 
to  light ;  even  those  who  in  the  days  of  revolutionary  terror 
had  become  rich  through  the  property  of  the  sacrificed  vic- 
tims, exposed  themselves  to  public  gaze  with  impunity  and 
without  shame.  They  plundered  and  adorned  themselves 
with  a  wealth  acquired  only  through  cunning,  treachery, 
and  murder.  Everywhere  feasts,  banquets,  and  balls,  were 
organized ;  and  it  was  an  ordinary  event  to  find  in  the  same 
company  the  accuser  and  the  accused,  the  executioner  and 
his  victim,  the  murderer  near  the  daughter  of  the  man 
whose  head  he  had  given  over  to  the  guillotine ! 

This  was  especially  the  case  at  the  so-called  victim  balls 
{bals  a  la  victime)  which  were  given  by  the  heirs,  the  sons 
and  fathers  of  those  who  had  perished  by  the  guillotine. 
People  gathered  together  in  brilliant  entertainments  and 
balls  to  the  honor  and  memory  of  the  executed  ones.  Ev- 
ery one  who  could  pay  the  large  fee  of  admission  to  these 
bals  a  la  victime  were  permitted  to  enter.  Those  who  came 
there,  not  for  pleasure,  but  to  honor  their  dead,  showed  this 
intention  by  their  clothing,  and  especially  by  the  arrange- 
ment of  their  hair.  To  remind  them  that  those  who  had 
been  led  to  the  guillotine  had  had  their  hair  cut  close,  gen- 
tlemen now  had  theirs  cut  short,  and  the  dressing  of  the 
hair  a  la  victime  was  for  gentlemen  as  much  a  fashion  as 
the  dressing  of  the  hair  a  la  Titus  (the  Roman  emperor) 
was  for  the  ladies.  Besides  this,  the  heirs  of  the  victims 
wore  some  token  of  the  departed  ones,  and  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen were  seen  in  the  blood-stained  garments  which  their 
relatives  had  worn  on  their  way  to  the  scaffold,  and  which 
they  had  purchased  with  large  sums  of  money  from  the  exe- 
cutioner, that  lord  of  Paris.  It  often  happened  that  a  lady 
in  the  blood-stained  dress  of  her  mother  danced  with  the 
son  of  the  man  who  had  delivered  her  mother  to  the  guillo- 
tine; that  a  son  of  a  member  of  the  Convention  of  1793. 
17 


248  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

led,  in  the  minuet,  the  graceful  "  pas  de  chdle,"  with  the 
daughter  of  an  emigrant  marquis.  The  most  fanatical  men 
of  the  days  of  terror,  now  exalted  into  wealthy  land-owners, 
led  on  in  the  gay  waltz  the  daughters  of  their  former  land- 
lords ;  and  these  women  pressed  the  hand  soiled  with  the 
blood  of  their  relatives  because  now,  as  amends  for  their 
trafSc  in  blood,  they  could  offer  future  wealth  and  distinc- 
tion. 

It  seemed  that  all  Paris  and  all  France  had  gone  mad — 
that  the  whole  nation  was  drunk  with  blood  as  with  intoxi- 
cating wine,  and  wanted  to  stifle  the  yoice  of  conscience  in 
the  horrible  revelry  of  the  saturnalia. 

Josephine  never  took  part  in  these  public  balls  and  fes- 
tivities ;  never  did  the  widow  of  General  Beauharnais,  one  of 
the  victims  of  the  revolution,  attend  these  haU  a  la  victime, 
where  man  prided  himself  on  his  misfortune  and  gloried  in 
his  sorrows.  The  Moniteur — which  then  gave  daily  notices 
of  the  balls  and  amusements  that  were  to  take  place  in 
Paris,  so  as  to  let  the  world  know  how  cheerful  and  happy 
every  one  felt  there,  and  which  made  it  its  business  to  pub- 
lish the  names  of  the  ci-devants  and  ex-nobles  who  had  par- 
taken in  these  festivities — never  in  its  long  and  correct  list 
mentions  the  name  of  the  widow  of  General  Beauharnais. 

Josephine  kept  aloof  from  all  these  wild  dissipations — 
these  balls  and  banquets.  She  would  neither  dance,  nor 
adorn  herself  in  the  memory  of  her  husband ;  she  would 
not  take  a  part  in  the  splendid  festivities  of  a  republic 
which  had  murdered  him,  and  had  pierced  her  loyal  heart 
with  the  deepest  wounds. 


THE  FIRST  INTERVIEW.  249 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE   FIRST   INTERVIEW. 

Ik  the  midst  of  these  joys  and  amusements  of  the 
new-growing  Paris,  the  storm  of  the  thirteenth  Vend^mi- 
aire  launched  forth  its  destructive  thunderbolts,  and  an- 
other rent  was  made  in  the  lofty  structure  of  the  repub- 
lic. The  royalists,  who  had  cunningly  frequented  these 
bals  a  la  victime,  to  weave  intrigues  and  conspiracies, 
found  their  webs  scattered,  and  the  republic  assumed  a  new 
form. 

Napoleon  with  his  sword  had  cut  to  pieces  the  webs  and 
snares  of  the  royalists  as  well  as  of  the  revolutionists,  and 
France  had  to  bow  to  the  constitution.  In  the  Tuileries 
now  sat  the  Council  of  the  Elders ;  in  the  Salle  du  Manege 
sat  the  Five  Hundred ;  and  in  the  palace  of  Luxemburg 
resided  the  five  directors  of  the  republic. 

On  the  thirteenth  Vendemiaire  Paris  had  passed  through 
a  crisis  of  its  revolutionary  disease ;  and,  to  prevent  its  fall- 
ing immediately  into  another,  it  permitted  the  newly-ap- 
pointed commander-in-chief  of  the  army  of  the  interior  of 
France,  General  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  to  have  every  house 
strictly  searched,  and  to  confiscate  all  weapons  found. 

Even  into  the  house  of  the  Viscountess  de  Beauharnais, 
in  the  rue  Chautereine,  came  the  soldiers  of  the  republic  to 
search  for  secreted  weapons.  They  found  there  the  sword 
of  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais,  which  certainly  Josephine 
had  not  hidden,  for  it  was  the  chief  ornament  of  her  son's 
room.  When  Eugene,  on  the  next  Saturday,  came  to  Paris 
from  St.  Germain,  as  he  did  every  week,  to  pass  the  Sunday 
in  his  mother's  house,  to  his  great  distress  he  saw  vacant  on 
the  wall  the  place  where  the  sword  of  his  father  had  been 
hanging.  With  trembling  voice  and  tears  in  her  eyes  his 
mother  told  him  that  General  Bonaparte,  the  new  com- 


960  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

mander-in -chief,  had  ordered  the  sword  to  be  carried  away 
by  his  soldiers. 

A  cry  of  anger  and  of  malediction  was  Eugene's  answer ; 
then  with  flaming  eyes  and  cheeks  burning  with  rage  he 
rushed  out,  despite  the  supplications  of  his  affrighted  and 
anxious  mother.  Without  pausing,  without  thinking — con- 
scious only  of  this,  that  he  must  have  again  his  father's 
sword,  he  rushed  on.  It  was  impossible,  thought  he,  that 
the  republic  which  had  deprived  his  father  of  the  honors 
due  to  him,  his  property,  his  money — that  now,  after  his 
death,  she  should  also  take  away  his  sword. 

He  must  have  this  sword  again !  This  was  Eugene's 
firm  determination,  and  this  made  him  bold  and  resolute. 
He  rushed  into  the  palace  where  the  general-in-chief ,  Bona- 
parte, resided,  and  with  daring  vehemence  demanded  an  in- 
terview with  the  general ;  and,  as  the  door-keeper  hesitated, 
and  even  tried  to  push  away  the  bold  boy  from  the  door  of 
the  drawing-room,  Eugene  turned  about  with  so  much  en- 
ergy, spoke,  scolded,  and  raged  so  loudly  and  so  freely,  that 
the  noise  reached  even  the  cabinet  where  General  Bonaparte 
was.  He  opened  the  door,  and  in  his  short,  imperious  man- 
ner asked  the  cause  of  this  uproar ;  and  when  the  servant 
had  told  him,  with  a  sign  of  the  hand  he  beckoned  the 
youlig  man  to  come  in. 

Eugene  de  Beauharnais  entered  the  drawing-room  with 
a  triumphant  smile,  and  the  eye  of  General  Bonaparte  was 
fixed  with  pleasure  on  the  beautiful,  intelligent  countenance, 
on  the  tall,  powerful  figure  of  the  fifteen-year-old  boy.  In 
that  strange,  soft  accent  which  won  hearts  to  Napoleon,  he 
asked  Eugene  his  business.  The  young  man's  cheeks  be- 
came pallid,  and  with  tremulous  lips  and  angry  looks,  the 
^-etement  eloquence  of  youth  and  suffering,  Eugene  spoke 
of  the  loss  he  had  sustained,  and  of  the  pain  which  had 
been  added  to  it  by  despoiling  him  of  the  sword  of  hia 
father,  nr^urdered  by  the  republic. 


THE  FIRST  INTERVIEW.  251 

At  these  last  words  of  Eugene,  Bonaparte's  brow  was 
OYershadowed,  and  an  appalling  look  met  the  face  of  the 
brave  boy. 

"You  dare  say  that  the  republic  has  murdered  your 
father  ?  "  asked  he,  in  a  loud,  angry  voice. 

"  I  say  it,  and  I  say  the  truth ! "  exclaimed  Eugene,  who 
did  not  turn  away  his  eyes  from  the  flaming  looks  of  the 
general.  "  Yes,  the  republic  has  murdered  my  father,  for  it 
has  executed  him  as  a  criminal,  as  a  traitor  to  his  country, 
and  he  was  innocent ;  he  ever  was  a  faithful  servant  of  his 
country  and  of  the  republic." 

"  Who  told  you  that  it  was  so  ? "  asked  Bonaparte, 
abruptly. 

"  My  heart  and  the  republic  itself  tell  me  that  my  father 
was  no  traitor,"  exclaimed  Eugene,  warmly.  "  My  mother 
loved  him  much,  and  she  regrets  him  still.  She  would  not 
do  so  had  he  been  a  traitor,  and  then  the  republic  would  not 
have  done  what  it  has  done — it  would  not  have  returned 
to  my  mother  the  confiscated  property  of  my  father,  but 
would,  had  he  been  considered  guilty,  have  gladly  kept  it 
back." 

The  grave  countenance  of  Bonaparte  was  overspread  by 
a  genial  smile,  and  his  eyes  rested  with  the  expression  of 
innermost  sympathy  on  the  son  of  Josephine. 

"  You  think,  then,  that  the  republic  gladly  keeps  what  it 
has  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  I  see  that  it  gladly  takes  what  belongs  not  to  it,"  ex- 
claimed Eugene,  eagerly.  "  It  has  taken  away  my  father's 
sword,  which  belonged  to  me,  his  son,  and  my  mother  has 
made  me  swear  on  that  sword  to  hold  my  father's  memory 
sacred,  and  to  strive  to  be  like  him." 

"  Your  mother  is,  it  seems,  a  very  virtuous  old  lady,"  said 
Bonaparte,  in  a  friendly  tone. 

"  My  mother  is  a  virtuous,  young,  and  beautiful  lady,'* 
said  Eugene,  sturdily ;  "  and  I  am  certain,  general,  that  if 


252  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

you  knew  her,  you  would  not  in  your  heart  have  caused  her 
so  much  pain." 

"  She  has,  then,  suffered  much  on  account  of  this  sword 
being  taken  away  ?  "  asked  Bonaparte,  interested. 

"  Yes,  general,  she  has  wept  bitterly  over  this  our  loss, 
as  I  have.  I  cannot  bear  to  see  my  mother  weep  ;  it  breaks 
my  heart.  I  therefore  implore  you  to  give  me  back  my 
father's  sword ;  and  I  swear  to  you  that  when  I  am  a  man,  I 
will  carry  that  sword  only  for  the  defence  of  my  country,  as 
my  father  had  done." 

General  Bonaparte  nodded  kindly  to  the  boy.  "  You  are 
a  brave  defender  of  your  cause,"  said  he,  "  and  I  cannot  re- 
fuse you — I  must  do  as  you  wish." 

He  gave  orders  to  an  ordnance  ofl&cer  present  in  the  room 
to  bring  General  de  Beauharnais's  sword ;  and  when  the  oflB- 
cer  had  gone  to  fetch  it,  Bonaparte,  in  a  friendly  and  sympa- 
thizing manner,  conversed  with  the  boy.  At  last  the  ord- 
nance officer  returned,  and  handed  the  sword  to  the  general. 

With  solemn  gravity  Bonaparte  gave  it  to  Eugene. 
*'  Take  it,  young  man,"  said  he,  "  but  never  forget  that  you 
have  sworn  to  carry  it  only  for  the  honor  and  defence  of 
your  country." 

Eugene  could  not  answer :  tears  started  from  his  eyes, 
and  with  deep  affection  he  pressed  to  his  lips  the  recovered 
sword  of  his  father. 

This  manifestation  of  true  childish  emotion  moved 
Bonaparte  to  tender  sympathy,  and  an  expression  of  affec- 
tionate interest  passed  over  his  features  as  he  offered  his 
hand  to  Eugene. 

"  By  Heaven,  you  are  a  good  son,"  exclaimed  he  from 
his  heart,  "  and  you  will  be  one  day  a  good  son  to  your 
country !  Go,  my  boy,  take  to  your  mother  your  father's 
sword.  Tell  her  that  I  salute  her,  though  unknown  to  her 
— that  I  congratulate  her  in  being  the  mother  of  so  good 
and  brave  a  son." 


THE  FIRST  INTERVIEW.  253 

Such  waa  the  beginning  of  an  acquaintance  to  which 
Josephine  was  indebted  for  an  imperial  crown,  and,  for  what 
is  still  greater,  an  undying  fame  and  an  undying  love. 

Beaming  with  joy,  Eugene  returned  to  Josephine  with 
his  father's  sword,  and  with  all  the  glowing  sentiments  of 
thankfulness  he  related  to  her  how  kindly  and  obligingly 
General  Bonaparte  had  received  him,  what  friendly  and 
affectionate  words  he  had  spoken  to  him,  and  how  much 
forbearance  and  patience  he  had  manifested  to  his  impas- 
sioned request. 

Josephine's  maternal  heart  was  sensitive  and  grateful  for 
every  expression  of  sympathy  toward  her  son,  and  the  good- 
ness and  forbearance  of  the  general  affected  her  the  more, 
that  she  knew  how  bold  and  wild  the  boy,  smarting  under 
pain,  must  have  been.  She  therefore  h'astened  to  perform 
a  duty  of  politeness  by  calling  the  next  day  on  General 
Bonaparte,  to  thank  him  for  the  kindness  he  had  shown 
Eugene. 

For  the  first  time  General  Bonaparte  stood  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  woman  who  one  day  was  to  share  his  fame  and 
greatness,  and  this  first  moment  was  decisive  as  to  his  and 
her  future.  Josephine's  grace  and  elegance,  her  sweetness 
of  disposition,  her  genial  cheerfulness,  the  expression  of 
lofty  womanhood  which  permeated  her  whole  being,  and 
which  protected  her  securely  from  any  rough  intrusion  or 
familiarity ;  her  fine,  truly  aristocratic  bearing,  which  re- 
vealed at  once  a  lady  of  the  court  and  of  the  great  world ; 
her  whole  graceful  and  beautiful  appearance  captivated  the 
heart  of  Napoleon  at  the  fi^^st  interview,  and  the  very  next 
day  after  receiving  her  short  call  he  hastened  to  return  it. 

Josephine  was  not  alone  when  General  Bonaparte  was 
announced  ;  and  when  the  servant  named  him  she  could  not 
suppress  an  inward  fear,  without  knowing  why  she  was 
afraid.  Her  friends,  who  noticed  her  tremor  and  blush, 
laughed  jestingly  at  the  timidity  which  made  her  tremble 


254  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

at  the  name  of  the  conqueror  of  Paris,  and  this  was,  per- 
haps, the  reason  why  Josephine  received  General  Bonaparte 
with  less  complacency  than  she  generally  showed  to  her 
visitors. 

Amid  the  general  silence  of  all  those  present  the  young 
general  (twenty-six  years  old)  entered  the  drawing-room  of 
the  Viscountess  de  Beauharnais ;  and  this  silence,  however 
flattering  it  might  be  to  his  pride,  caused  him  a  slight  em- 
barrassment. He  therefore  approached  the  beautiful  widow 
with  a  certain  abrupt  and  perplexed  manner,  and  spoke  to 
her  in  that  hasty,  imperious  tone  which  might  become  a 
general,  but  which  did  not  seem  appropriate  in  a  lady's 
saloon.  General  Pichegru,  who  stood  near  Josephine, 
smiled,  and  even  her  amiable  countenance  was  overspread 
with  a  slight  expression  of  scorn,  as  she  fixed  her  beautiful 
eyes  on  this  pale,  thin  little  man,  whose  long,  smooth  hair 
fell  in  tangled  disorder  on  either  side  of  his  temples  over 
his  sallow,  hollow  cheeks ;  whose  whole  sickly  and  gloomy 
appearance  bore  so  little  resemblance  to  the  majestic  figure 
of  the  lion  to  which  he  had  been  so  often  compared  after 
his  success  of  the  thirteenth  Vend6miaire. 

"I  perceive,  general,"  suddenly  exclaimed  Josephine, 
**  that  you  are  sorry  it  was  your  duty  to  fill  Paris  once  more 
with  blood  and  horror.  You  would  undoubtedly  have  pre- 
ferred not  to  be  obliged  to  carry  out  the  bloody  orders  of  the 
affrighted  Convention  ?  " 

Bonaparte  shrugged  his  shoulders  somewhat.  "  That  is 
very  possible,"  said  he,  perfectly  quiet.  "  But  what  can  you 
expect,  raadame  ?  We  military  men  are  but  the  automatons 
which  the  government  sets  in  motion  according  to  its  good 
pleasure ;  we  know  only  how  to  obey ;  the  sections,  how- 
ever, cannot  but  congratulate  themselves  that  I  have  spared 
them  so  much.  Nearly  all  my  cannon  were  loaded  only  with 
powder.  I  wanted  to  give  a  little  lesson  to  the  Parisians. 
The  whole  affair  was  nothing  but  the  impress  of  my  seal 


THE  FIRST  INTERVIEW.  255 

on  France.  Such  skirmishes  are  only  the  vespers  of  my 
fame."  * 

Josephine  felt  irritated,  excited  by  the  coldness  with 
which  Napoleon  spoke  of  the  slaughter  of  that  day ;  and 
her  eyes,  otherwise  so  full  of  gentleness,  were  now  animated 
with  flashes  of  anger. 

"  Oh,"  cried  she,  "  if  you  must  purchase  fame  at  such  a 
price,  I  would  sooner  you  were  one  of  the  victims ! " 

Bonaparte  looked  at  her  with  astonishment,  but  as  he 
perceived  her  flushed  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes,  the  sight  of 
her  grace  and  beauty  ravished  him,  and  a  soft,  pleasant 
smile  suddenly  illumined  his  countenance.  He  answered 
her  violent  attack  by  a  light  pleasantry,  and  with  gladsome 
unaffectedness  he  gave  to  the  conversation  another  turn. 
The  small,  pale,  gloomy  general  was  at  once  changed  into  a 
young,  impassioned,  amiable  cavalier,  whose  countenance 
grew  beautiful  under  the  sparkling  intelligence  which  ani- 
mated it,  and  whose  enchanting  eloquence  ma^e  his  conver- 
sation attractive  and  lively,  carrying  with  it  the  conviction 
of  a  superior  mind. 

After  the  visitors  who  had  met  that  morning  in  Jose- 
phine's drawing-room  had  departed  the  general  still  re- 
mained, notwithstanding  the  astonished  and  questioning 
looks  of  the  viscountess,  paying  no  attention  to  her  remarks 
about  the  fine  weather,  or  her  intention  to  enjoy  a  prom- 
enade. With  rapid  steps,  and  hands  folded  behind  his  back, 
he  paced  a  few  times  to  and  fro  the  room,  then  standing 
before  Josephine  he  fixed  on  her  face  a  searching  look. 

"  Madame,"  said  he,  suddenly,  with  a  kind  of  rough  tone, 
"  I  have  a  proposition  to  make :  give  me  your  hand.  Be 
my  wife ! " 

Josephine  looked  at  him,  half -astonished,  half -irritated, 
*'  Is  it  a  joke  you  are  indulging  in  ?  "  said  she. 

•  Napoleon's  words. — See  Le  Normand,  vol.  i.,  p.  214, 


256  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

"  I  speak  in  all  earnestness,"  said  Bonaparte,  warmly. 
"  Will  you  do  me  the  honor  of  giving  me  your  hand  ?  " 

The  gravity  with  which  Bonaparte  spoke,  the  deep  ear- 
nestness imprinted  on  his  features,  convinced  Josephine  that 
the  general  would  not  condescend  to  indulge  in  a  joke  of  so 
unseemly  a  character,  and  a  lovely  blush  overspread  the  face 
of  the  viscountess. 

"  Sir,"  said  she,  "  who  knows  if  I  might  not  be  inclined 
to  accept  your  distinguished  offer,  if,  unfortunately,  fate 
stood  not  in  the  way  of  your  wishes  ?  " 

"  Fate  ?  "  asked  Bonaparte,  with  animation. 

"  Yes,  fate  !  my  general,"  repeated  Josephine,  smiling. 
"  But  let  us  speak  no  more  of  this.  It  is  enough  that  fate 
forbids  me  to  be  the  wife  of  General  Bonaparte.  I  can  say 
no  more,  for  you  would  laugh  at  me." 

"  But  you  would  laugh  at  me  if  you  could  turn  me  away 
with  so  vague  an  answer,"  cried  Bonaparte,  with  vivacity. 
"  I  pray  you,  explain  the  meaning  of  your  words." 

"  Well,  then,  general,  I  cannot  be  your  wife,  for  I  am 
destined  to  be  Queen  of  France — yes,  perhaps  more  than 
queen ! " 

It  was  now  Bonaparte's  turn  to  appear  astonished  and 
irritated,  and  using  her  own  words  he  said,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  "  Madame,  is  it  a  joke  you  are  indulging  in  ?  " 

"  I  speak  in  all  earnestness,"  said  Josephine,  shaking  her 
head.  "  Listen,  then  :  a  negro- woman  in  Martinique  fore- 
told my  fortune,  and  as  her  oracular  words  have  thus  far 
been  all  fulfilled,  I  must  conclude  that  the  rest  of  her 
prophecies  concerning  me  will  be  realized." 

"  And  what  has  she  prophesied  to  you  ? "  asked  Bona- 
parte, eagerly. 

"  She  has  told  me :  *  You  will  one  day  be  Queen  of 
France  !  you  will  be  still  more  than  qu^en  ! ' " 

The  general  was  silent.  He  had  remained  standing; 
but  now  slowly  paced  the  room  a  few  times,  his  hands  folded 


THE  FIRST  INTERVIEW.  26Y 

on  his  back  and  his  head  inclined  on  his  breast.  Then 
again  he  stood  before  the  viscountess,  and  his  eyes  rested 
upon  her  with  a  wondrous  bright  and  genial  expression. 

"I  bid  defiance  to  fate,"  said  he,  somewhat  solemnly. 
"  This  prophecy  does  not  frighten  me  away,  and  in  defiance 
of  your  prophetic  negro-woman,  I,  the  republican  general, 
address  my  prayer  to  the  future  Queen  of  France :  be  my 
wife  ! — give  me  your  hand." 

Josephine  felt  almost  affrighted  at  this  pertinacity  of  the 
general,  and  a  sentiment  of  apprehension  overcame  her  as 
she  looked  into  the  pale,  decided  countenance  of  this  man, 
a  stranger  to  her,  and  who  claimed  her  for  his  wife. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  exclaimed  she,  with  some  anguish,  "  you  offer 
me  your  hand  with  as  much  carelessness  as  if  the  whole 
matter  were  merely  for  a  contra-dance.  But  I  can  assure 
you  that  marriage  is  a  very  grave  matter,  which  has  no  re- 
semblance whatever  to  a  gay  dance.  I  know  it  is  so.  I 
have  had  my  sad  experience,  and  I  cannot  so  easily  decide 
upon  marrying  a  second  time." 

"  You  refuse  my  hand,  then  ? "  said  Bonaparte,  with  a 
threatening  tone. 

Josephine  smiled.  "  On  the  contrary,  general,"  said  she, 
"give  me  your  hand  and  accompany  me  to  my  carriage, 
which  has  been  waiting  for  me  this  long  time." 

"  That  means  you  dismiss  me  !  You  close  upon  me  the 
door  of  your  drawing-room  ?  "  exclaimed  Bonaparte,  with 
warmth. 

She  shook  her  head,  and,  bowing  before  him  with  her 
own  irresistible  grace,  she  said  in  a  friendly  manner :  "  I  am 
too  good  a  patriot  not  to  be  proud  of  seeing  the  conqueror 
of  Toulon  in  my  drawing-room.  To-morrow  I  have  an  even- 
ing reception,  and  I  invite  you  to  be  present,  general." 

From  this  day  Bonaparte  visited  Josephine  daily ;  she 
was  certain  to  meet  him  everywhere.  At  first  she  sought  to 
avoid  him,  but  he  always  knew  with  cunning  foresight  how 


258  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

to  baflBe  her  efforts,  and  to  overcome  all  difficulties  which 
she  threw  in  his  way.  Was  she  at  her  friend  Therese's,  she 
could  safely  reckon  that  General  Bonaparte  would  soon 
make  his  appearance  and  come  near  her  with  eyes  beaming 
with  joy,  and  in  his  own  energetic  language  speak  to  her  of 
his  love  and  hopes.  Was  she  to  be  present  at  the  receptions 
of  the  five  monarcha  of  Paris,  it  was  General  Bonaparte  who 
waited  for  her  at  the  door  of  the  hall  to  offer  his  arm,  and 
lead  her  amid  the  respectful,  retreating,  and  gently  applaud- 
ing crowd  to  her  seat,  where  he  stood  by  her,  drawing  upon 
her  the  attention  of  all.  Did  she  take  a  drive,  at  the  accus- 
tomed hour,  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  she  was  confident  soon 
to  see  General  Bonaparte  on  his  gray  horse  gallop  at  her 
side,  followed  by  his  brilliant  staff,  himself  the  object  of 
public  admiration  and  universal  respect ;  and  finally,  if  she 
went  to  the  theatre.  General  Bonaparte  never  failed  to  ap- 
pear in  her  loge,  to  remain  near  her  during  the  performance ; 
and  when  she  left,  to  offer  his  arm  to  accompany  her  to  her 
carriage. 

It  could  not  fail  that  this  persevering  homage  of  the 
renowned  and  universally  admired  young  general  should 
make  a  deep  and  flattering  impression  on  Josephine's  heart, 
and  fill  her  with  pride  and  joy.  But  Josephine  made  re- 
sistance to  this  feeling;  she  endeavored  to  shield  herself 
from  it  by  maternal  love. 

She  sent  for  her  two  children  from  their  respective 
schools,  and  with  her  nearly  grown-up  son  on  one  side  and 
her  daughter  budding  into  maidenhood  on  the  other,  she 
thus  presented  herself  to  the  general,  and  with  an  enchant- 
ing smile  said  :  "  See,  general,  how  old  I  am,  with  a  grown- 
up son  and  daughter  who  soon  can  make  of  me  a  grand- 
mother." 

But  Bonaparte  with  heart-felt  emotion  reached  his  hand 
to  Eugene  and  said,  "A  man  who  can  call  so  worthy  a  youth 
as  this  his  son,  is  to  be  envied." 


THE  FIRST  INTERVIEW.  259 

A  cunning,  smiling  expression  of  the  eye  revealed  to 
Josephine  that  he  had  understood  her  war-stratagem — that 
neither  the  grown-up  son  nor  the  marriageable  daughter 
could  deter  him  from  his  object. 

Josephine  at  last  was  won  by  so  much  love  and  tender- 
ness, but  she  could  not  yet  acknowledge  that  the  wounds  of 
her  heart  were  closed ;  that  once  more  she  could  trust  in 
happiness,  and  devote  her  life  to  a  new  love,  to  a  new  future. 
She  shrank  timidly  away  from  such  a  shaping  of  her  des- 
tiny ;  and  even  the  persuasions  of  her  friends  and  relatives, 
even  of  the  father  of  her  deceased  husband,  could  not  bring 
her  to  a  decision. 

The  state  of  her  mind  is  depicted  in  a  letter  which 
Josephine  wrote  to  her  friend  Madame  de  Chateau  Renaud, 
and  which  describes  in  a  great  measure  the  strange  uncer- 
tainty of  her  heart : 

"  You  have  seen  General  Bonaparte  at  my  house !  Well, 
then,  he  is  the  one  who  wishes  to  be  the  father  of  the  or- 
phans of  Alexandre  de  Beauharnais  and  the  husband  of  his 
widow.  'Do  you  love  him?'  you  will  ask.  Well,  no! — 
*  Do  you  feel  any  repugnance  toward  him  ? '  No,  but  I  feel 
in  a  state  of  vacillation  and  doubt,  a  state  very  disagreeable 
to  me,  and  which  the  devout  in  religious  matters  consider 
to  be  the  most  scandalizing.  As  love  is  a  kind  of  worship, 
one  ought  in  its  presence  to  feel  animated  by  other  feelings 
than  those  I  now  experience,  and  therefore  I  long  for  your 
advice,  which  might  bring  the  constant  indecision  of  my 
mind  to  a  fixed  conclusion.  To  adopt  a  firm  course  has  al- 
ways appeared  to  my  Creole  nonchalance  something  beyond 
reach,  and  I  find  it  infinitely  more  convenient  to  be  led  by 
the  will  of  another. 

"  I  admire  the  courage  of  the  general ;  I  am  surprised  at 
his  ample  knowledge,  which  enables  him  to  speak  fluently 
on  every  subject ;  at  the  vivacity  of  his  genius,  which  ena- 
bles him  to  guess  at  the  thoughts  of  others  before  they  are 


260  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

expressed ;  but  I  avow,  I  am  frightened  at  the  power  he 
seems  to  exercise  over  every  one  who  comes  near  him.  His 
searching  look  has  something  strange,  which  I  cannot  ex- 
plain, but  which  has  a  controlling  influence  even  upon  our 
directors ;  judge,  therefore,  of  his  influence  over  a  woman. 
Finally,  the  very  thing  which  might  please — the  violence  of 
his  passion — of  which  he  speaks  with  so  much  energy,  and 
which  admits  of  no  doubt,  that  passion  is  exactly  what 
creates  in  me  the  unwillingness  I  have  so  often  been  ready 
to  express. 

"  The  first  bloom  of  youth  lies  behind  me.  Can  I  there- 
fore hope  that  this  passion,  which  in  General  Bonaparte  re- 
sembles an  attack  of  madness,  will  last  long  ?  If  after  our 
union  he  should  cease  to  love  me,  would  he  not  reproach  me 
for  what  he  had  done  ?  Would  he  not  regret  that  he  had 
not  made  another  and  more  brilliant  union  ?  What  could 
I  then  answer  ?  What  could  1  do  ?  I  could  weep.  '  A 
splendid  remedy ! '  I  hear  you  say.  I  know  well  that  weep- 
ing is  useless,  but  to  weep  has  been  the  only  resource  which 
I  could  find  when  my  poor  heart,  so  easily  wounded,  has 
been  hurt.  Write  to  me  a  long  letter,  and  do  not  fear  to 
scold  me  if  you  think  that  I  am  wrong.  You  know  well 
that  every  thing  which  comes  from  you  is  agreeable  to 
me."* 

While  Josephine  was  writing  this  letter  to  her  friend, 
General  Bonaparte  received  one  which  produced  upon  him 
the  deepest  impression,  though  it  consisted  only  of  a  few 
words.  But  these  words  expressed  the  innermost  thought 
of  his  soul,  and  revealed  to  him  perhaps  for  the  first  time 
its  secret  wishes. 

One  evening  as  the  general,  returning  home  from  a  visit 
to  the  Viscountess  Josephine,  entered  into  his  drawing- 
room,  followed  by  some  of  his  officers  and  adjutants,  he  ob- 

*  "  M^moires  sur  I'lmp^ratrice  Josephine,"  par  Madame  Ducrest 
p.  M2. 


THE  FIRST  INTERVIEW.  261 

served  on  a  large  timepiece,  which  stood  on  the  mantel- 
piece, a  letter,  the  deep-red  paper  and  black  seal  of  which 
attracted  his  attention. 

"  Whence  this  letter  ?  "  asked  he,  with  animation,  of  the 
servant-man  walking  before  him  with  a  silver  candlestick, 
as  he  pointed  to  the  red  envelope. 

But  the  waiter  declared  that  he  had  not  seen  the  letter, 
and  that  he  knew  not  where  it  came  from. 

"  Ask  the  other  servants,  or  the  porter,  who  brought  this 
red  letter  with  the  black  seal,"  ordered  Bonaparte. 

The  servant  hurried  from  the  room,  but  soon  returned, 
with  the  news  that  no  one  knew  any  thing  about  the  let- 
ter ;  no  one  had  seen  it,  no  one  knew  who  had  placed,  it 
there. 

"  Well,  then,  let  us  see  what  it  contains,"  said  Bonaparte, 
and  he  was  going  to  break  the  seal,  when  Junot  suddenly 
seized  his  hand  and  tore  the  letter  away  from  him. 

"  Do  not  read  it,  general,"  implored  Junot ;  "  I  beseech 
you  do  not  open  this  letter.  Who  knows  if  some  of  your 
enemies  have  not  sent  you  a  letter  a  la  Catharine  de  Medi- 
cis  ?  Who  knows  if  it  is  not  poisoned — ^that  the  mere  touch 
of  it  may  not  produce  death  ?  " 

Bonaparte  smiled  at  this  solicitude  of  his  tender  friend, 
yet  he  listened  to  his  pressing  alarms,  and,  instead  of  open- 
ing and  reading  the  letter,  he  passed  it  to  Junot. 

"  Read  it  yourself,  if  you  have  the  courage  to  do  so,"  said 
he,  familiarly  shaking  his  head. 

Junot  rapidly  broke  the  black  seal  and  tore  the  red 
paper.  Then,  fixing  his  eyes  on  it,  he  threw  it  aside,  and 
broke  into  loud,  merry  laughter. 

"Well,"  asked  Bonaparte,  "what  does  the  letter  con- 
tain?" 

"  A  mystery,  my  general — nothing  more  than  a  mystery," 
cried  Junot,  presenting  the  letter  to  Bonaparte. 

The  letter  contained  but  these  words : 


262  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

"  Macbeth,  you  will  be  king. 

"The  Bed  Man." 

Jnnot  laughed  over  this  mysterious  note,  but  Bonaparte 
shared  not  in  his  merriment.  With  compressed  lips  and 
frowning  brow  he  looked  at  these  strange,  prophetic  words, 
as  if  in  their  characters  he  wanted  to  discover  the  features 
of  him  who  had  dared  to  look  into  the  most  hidden  recesses 
of  his  soul ;  then  he  threw  the  paper  into  the  chimney-fire, 
and  slowly  and  thoughtfully  paced  the  room,  while  in  a  low 
Toice  he  murmured,  "  Macbeth,  you  will  be  king." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

MARRIAGE. 

At  last  the  conqueror  of  Toulon  conquered  also  the 
heart  of  the  young  widow  who  had  so  anxiously  struggled 
against  him ;  at  last  Josephine  overcame  all  her  fears,  all 
her  terror,  and,  with  joyous  trust  in  the  future,  was  be- 
trothed to  General  Bonaparte.  But  even  then,  after  having 
taken  this  decisive  step,  after  love  had  cast  away  fear,  even 
then  she  had  not  the  courage  to  reveal  to  her  children  that 
she  had  contracted  a  new  marriage-tie,  that  she  was  going 
to  give  to  the  orphans  of  the  Viscount  de  Beauharnais  a 
new  father.  Ashamed  and  timid  as  a  young  maid,  she 
could  not  force  herself  into  acknowledging  to  the  children 
of  her  deceased  husband  that  a  new  love  had  grown  in  her 
heart — that  the  mourning  widow  was  to  become  again  a 
happy  woman. 

Josephine,  therefore,  commissioned  Madame  de  Campan 
to  communicate  this  news  to  her  Eugene  and  Hortense ;  to 
tell  them  that  she  desired  not  only  to  have  a  husband,  but 


MARRIAGE.  263 

also  to  give  to  her  children  a  faithful,  loving  father,  who 
had  promised  to  their  mother  with  sacred  oaths  to  regard, 
love,  and  protect  them  as  his  own  children. 

The  children  of  General  Beauharnais  received  this  news 
with  tears  in  their  eyes ;  they  complained  loudly  and  sor- 
rowfully that  their  mother  was  giving  up  the  name  of  their 
father  and  changing  it  for  another ;  that  the  memory  of 
their  father  would  be  forever  lost  in  their  mother's  heart. 
But,  through  pure  love  for  their  mother,  they  soon  dried  up 
these  tears ;  and  when  next  day  Josephine,  accompanied  by 
General  Bonaparte,  came  to  St.  Germain,  to  visit  Madame 
de  Campan's  institution,  she  met  there  her  daughter  and 
son,  who  both  embraced  her  with  the  most  tender  affection, 
and,  smiling  under  their  tears,  offered  their  hands  to  Gen- 
eral Bonaparte,  who,  with  all  the  sincerity  and  honesty  of  a 
deep,  heart-felt  emotion,  embraced  them  in  his  arms,  and 
solemnly  promised  to  treat  them  as  a  father  and  a  friend. 

All  Josephine's  friends  did  not  gladly  give  their  appro- 
bation to  her  marriage  with  this  small,  insignificant  general, 
as  yet  so  little  known,  whose  success  before  Toulon  was 
already  forgotten,  and  whose  victory  of  the  thirteenth  Ven- 
d^miaire  had  brought  him  but  little  fame  and  made  him 
many  enemies. 

Among  the  friends  who  in  this  union  with  Bonaparte 
saw  very  little  happiness  for  Josephine  was  her  lawyer,  the 
advocate  Eagideau,  who  for  many  years  had  been  her 
family's  agent,  whose  distinguished  talent  for  pleading  and 
whose  small  figure  had  made  him  known  through  all  Paris, 
and  of  whom  it  was  said  that  as  a  man  he  was  but  a  dwarf ; 
.  but  as  a  lawyer,  he  was  a  giant. 

One  day,  in  virtue  of  an  invitation  from  the  Viscountess 
de  Beauharnais,  Eagideau  came  to  the  small  hotel  of  the 
rue  Chautereine,  and  sent  his  name  to  the  viscountess.  She 
received  his  visit,  and  at  his  entrance  into  her  cabinet  all 

those  present  retreated  into  the  drawing-room  contiguous 

18 


264  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

thereto,  as  they  well  knew  that  Josephine  had  some  business 
transactions  with  her  lawyer. 

Only  one  small,  pale  man,  in  modest  gray  clothing,  whom 
Ragidean  did  not  condescend  to  notice,  remained  in  the 
cabinet,  who  retired  quietly  within  the  recess  of  a  window. 

Josephine  received  her  business  agent  with  a  friendly 
smile,  and  spoke  long  and  in  detail  with  him  concerning  a 
few  important  transactions  which  had  reference  to  her  ap- 
proaching marriage.  Then  suddenly  passing  from  the  cold- 
ness of  a  business  conversation  to  the  tone  of  a  friendly  one, 
she  asked  M.  Ragideau  what  the  world  said  of  her  second 
marriage. 

Eagidean  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  assumed  a  thought- 
ful attitude.  "  Your  friends,  madame,"  said  he,  "  see  with 
sorrow  that  you  are  going  to  marry  a  soldier,  who  is  younger 
than  yourself,  who  possesses  nothing  but  his  salary,  and 
therefore  cannot  leave  the  service ;  or,  if  he  is  killed  in 
battle,  leaves  you  perhaps  with  children,  and  without  an 
inheritance." 

"  Do  you  share  the  opinion  of  my  friends,  my  dear  M. 
Ragideau  ?  "  asked  Josephine,  smiling. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  lawyer,  earnestly,  "  yes,  I  share  them — 
yes.  I  am  not  satisfied  that  you  should  contract  such  a 
marriage.  You  are  rich,  madame ;  you  possess  a  capital 
which  secures  you  a  yearly  income  of  twenty-five  thousand 
francs  ;  with  such  an  income  you  had  claims  to  a  brilliant 
marriage ;  and  I  feel  conscientiously  obliged,  as  your  friend 
and  business  agent,  in  whom  you  have  trusted,  and  who  has 
for  you  the  deepest  interest,  to  earnestly  remonstrate  with 
you  while  there  is  yet  time.  Consider  it  well,  viscountess ; 
it  is  a  reckless  step  you  are  taking,  and  I  entreat  you  not  to 
do  it.  I  speak  to  your  own  advantage.  General  Bonaparte 
may  be  a  very  good  man,  possibly  quite  a  distinguished 
soldier,  but  certain  it  is  he  has  only  his  hat  and  his  sword 
to  offer  you." 


MARRIAGE.  265 

Josephine  now  broke  into  a  joyous  laugh,  and  her  beam- 
ing eyes  turned  to  the  young  man  there  who,  with  his  back 
turned  to  the  party,  stood  at  the  window  beating  the  panes 
with  his  fingers,  apparently  heedless  of  their  conversation. 

"  General,"  cried  out  Josephine,  cheerfully,  "  have  you 
heard  what  M.  Eagideau  says?" 

Bonaparte  turned  slowly  round,  and  his  large  eyes  fell 
with  a  flaming  look  upon  the  little  advocate. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  gravely, "  I  have  heard  all.  M.  Bagideau 
has  spoken  as  an  honest  man,  and  every  thing  he  has  said 
fills  me  with  esteem  for  him.  I  trust  he  will  continue  to  be 
our  agent,  for  I  feel  inclined  to  give  him  full  confidence." 

He  bowed  kindly  to  the  little  lawyer,  who  stood  there 
bewildered  and  ashamed,  and,  offering  his  arm  to  Josephine, 
Bonaparte  led  her  into  the  drawing-room.* 

The  decisive  word  had  been  spoken :  Josephine  de  Beau- 
harnais  was  now  the  bride  of  General  Bonaparte.  His 
hitherto  pale,  gloomy  countenance  was  all  radiant  with  the 
bright  light  of  love  and  happiness.  The  days  of  solitude 
and  privations  were  forgotten  ;  the  young,  beautiful  D6siree 
Clary,  whom  Bonaparte  so  much  loved  a  few  months  ago, 
and  the  amiable  Madame  Permont,  were  also  forgotten  (and 
yet  to  the  latter,  in  her  loge  at  the  theatre,  as  a  farce  be- 
tween acts,  he  had  offered  his  hand) ;  all  the  little  love- 
intrigues  of  former  days  were  forgotten ;  to  Josephine  alone 
belonged  his  heart,  her  alone  he  loved  with  all  the  im- 
passioned glow  and  depth  of  a  first  exclusive  love. 

But  yet,  now  and  then,  clouds  darkened  his  large  pensive 
brow ;  even  her  smile  could  not  always  illumine  the  gloomy 

♦  The  little  advocate  Ragideau  remained  after  this  Josephine's 
agent.  When  Bonaparte  had  become  emperor,  he  appointed  Ragideau 
notary  of  the  civil  list,  and  always  manifested  the  greatest  interest  in 
his  behalf,  and  never  by  a  word  or  a  look  did  he  remind  him  of  the 
strange  circumstance  which  brought  about  their  acquaintance. — See 
Meneval,  "  Napoleon  et  Marie  Louise,"  vol.  i.,  p.  202. 


266  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE.' 

expression  on  his  features  ;  it  would  happen  that,  plunged 
in  deep,  sad  cogitations,  he  heard  not  the  question  which 
she  addressed  him  in  her  remarkably  soft  and  clear  voice 
which  Bonaparte  so  much  loved. 

His  lofty  pride  felt  humiliated  and  disgraced  by  the  part 
he  was  now  performing. 

He  was  the  general  of  the  army  of  the  interior,  but  be- 
yond the  frontiers  of  France  there  stood  another  French 
army,  whose  soldiers  had  not  the  sad  mission  to  maintain 
peace  and  quietness  at  home,  to  fight  against  brothers ;  but 
an  army  seeking  for  the  foe,  whose  blood  and  victories  were 
to  secure  them  laurels. 

General  Bonaparte  longed  to  be  with  this  army,  and  to 
obliterate  the  remembrance  of  the  13th  Vendemiaire  and  its 
sad  victory  by  brilliant  exploits  beyond  the  Alps.  It  was 
also  to  him  a  humiliating  and  depressing  feeling  to  become 
the  husband  of  a  wealthy  woman,  and  not  bring  her  as  a 
glorious  gift  or  a  wedding-present  the  fame  and  laurels  of  a 
husband. 

It  has  often  been  said  that  Josephine  obtained  for  her 
husband,  as  a  wedding-gift,  his  appointment  of  command- 
ing general  of  the  army  in  Italy ;  that  she  procured  this 
appointment  from  Barras,  with  whom,  before  her  acquaint- 
ance with  Bonaparte,  she  had  been  in  closer  relationship 
than  that  of  mere  friendship.  Even  such  historians  as 
Schlosser  have  accepted  this  calumny  as  truth,  without  tak- 
ing pains  to  investigate  whether  the  facts  justified  this  sup- 
position. In  the  great  historical  events  which  have  shaken 
nations,  it  is  really  of  little  importance  if,  under  the  light 
which  illumines  and  brings  out  such  events,  a  shadow 
should  fall  and  darken  an  individual.  Even  the  hatred  and 
scorn  with  which  a  nation,  trodden  down  in  the  dust,  curses 
a  tyrant,  and  endeavors  to  take  vengeance  on  his  fame,  ask 
not  if  the  stone  flung  at  the  hated  one  falls  upon  other 
heads  than  the  one  aimed  at. 


MARRIAGE.  267 

Not  Josephine,  but  Bonaparte,  did  they  wish  to  injure 
when  stating  she  had  been  the  beloved  of  Barras.  It  was 
Bonaparte  whom  they  wished  to  humble  and  mortify,  when 
historians  published  that,  not  to  his  merits,  but  to  the  peti- 
tions of  his  wife,  he  was  indebted  for  his  commission  as  gen- 
eral of  the  army  in  Italy. 

But  truth  justifies  not  this  calumny ;  and  when  with  the 
light  of  truth  the  path  of  the  widow  of  General  Beauhar- 
nais  is  lighted,  it  will  be  found  that  this  path  led  to  solitude 
and  quietness ;  that  at  none  of  the  great  and  brilliant  ban- 
quets which  Barras  then  gave,  and  which  in  the  Moniteur 
are  described  with  so  much  pomp,  not  once  is  the  name  of 
Viscountess  de  Beauharnais  mentioned  ;  that  in  the  numer- 
ous pasquinades  and  lampoons  which  then  appeared  in 
Paris  and  in  all  France,  and  in  which  all  private  life  was 
fathomed,  not  once  is  the  name  of  Josephine  brought  out, 
neither  is  there  any  indirect  allusion  to  her. 

Calumny  has  placed  this  stain  on  Josephine's  brow,  but 
truth  takes  it  away.  And  that  truth  is,  that  not  Josephine, 
but  Bonaparte,  was  the  friend  of  Barras ;  that  it  was  not 
Barras,  but  Carnot,  who  promoted  Bonaparte  to  the  rank  of 
commanding  general  of  the  army  in  Italy. 

Camot,  the  minister  of  war  of  the  republic,  the  noble, 
incorruptible  republican,  whose  character,  pure,  bright,  and 
true  as  steel,  turned  aside  all  the  darts  of  wickedness  and 
calumny,  which  could  not  inflict  even  a  wound,  or  leave  a 
etain  on  the  brilliancy  of  his  spotless  character,  has  given 
upon  this  point  his  testimony  in  a  refiitation.  At  a  later 
period,  when  the  hatred  of  parties,  and  the  events  of  the 
18th  Fructidor,  had  forced  him  to  flee  from  France,  he 
defended  himself  against  the  accusation  launched  at  him 
in  the  Council  of  the  Five  Hundred,  which  pointed  him 
out  as  a  traitor  to  the  republic;  and  this  defence  gave 
a  detailed  account  of  the  whole  time  of  his  administra- 
tion, and  especially  what  he  achieved  for  the  republic, 


268  THE  EMPRESS  JuSEPHINE. 

claiming  as  one  of  his  services  the  appointment  of  Bona- 
parte. 

"  It  is  not  true,"  says  he,  "  that  Barras  proposed  Bona- 
parte for  the  chief  command  of  the  army  in  Italy.  I  myself 
did  it.  But  time  was  allowed  to  intervene,  so  as  to  ascer- 
tain whether  Bonaparte  would  succeed  before  Barras  con- 
gratulated himself,  and  then  only  to  his  confidants,  that  it 
was  he  who  had  made  this  proposition  to  the  Directory. 
Had  Bonaparte  not  answered  the  expectations,  then  I  should 
have  been  the  one  to  blame :  then  it  would  have  been  I  who 
had  chosen  a  young,  inexperienced,  intriguing  man ;  and  I 
who  had  betrayed  the  nation,  for  the  other  members  did 
not  interfere  in  war-matters;  upon  me  all  responsibility 
would  have  fallen.  But  as  Bonaparte  is  victorious,  then  it 
must  be  Barras  who  appointed  him !  To  Barras  alone  are 
the  people  indebted  for  this  nomination !  He  is  Bonaparte's 
protector,  his  defender  against  my  attacks !  I  am  jealous 
of  Bonaparte ;  I  cross  him  in  all  his  plans ;  I  lower  his 
character ;  I  persecute  him ;  I  refuse  him  all  assistance ;  I, 
in  all  probability,  am  to  plunge  him  into  ruin ! " — such 
were  the  calumnies  which  at  that  time  filled  the  journals 
bribed  by  Barras.* 

To  Carnot,  the  secretary  of  war  of  the  republic,  did 
Bonaparte  go,  to  ask  of  him  the  command  of  the  army  in 
Italy.  But  Carnot  answered  him,  as  he  had  already  before 
Aubry,  the  minister  of  war,  "  You  are  too  young." 

"  Let  us  put  appearances  and  age  aside,"  said  Bona- 
parte, impatiently.  "  Alexander,  Scipio,  Cond6,  and  many 
others,  though  still  younger  than  I,  marched  armies  to  bril- 
liant conquests,  and  decided  the  fate  of  whole  kingdoms.  I 
believe  I  have  given  a  few  proofs  of  what  I  can  achieve,  if 

•  "  Response  de  L.  N.  M.  Carnot,  citoyen  fran^ais,  Tun  des  fonda- 
teurs  de  la  r^publique,  et  membre  constitutionnel  du  Directoire  exe- 
cutif  au  rapport  fait  sur  la  conjuration  du  18  Fructidor  au  conseil  des 
Cinq  Cents." 


MARRIAGB.  269 

I  am  set  at  the  right  place ;  and  I  burn  with  great  long- 
ing to  serve  my  country,  to  obtain  victories  over  despots 
who  hate  France  because  they  fear,  calumniate,  and  envy 
her!" 

"  I  know  you  are  a  good  patriot,"  said  Carnot,  slowly 
turning  his  head ;  "  I  know  and  appreciate  your  services, 
and  you  may  rest  assured  that  the  obstacles  which  I  place 
in  your  path  are  not  directed  against  you  personally.  But 
do  you  know  the  situation  of  our  army  ?  It  is  devoured  by 
the  quartermaster ;  betrayed  and  sold,  I  fear,  by  its  general, 
and  demoralized,  notwithstanding  its  successes !  That  army 
needs  every  thing,  even  discipline,  whilst  the  enemy's  army 
has  all  that  we  need.  We  want  nearly  a  miracle  to  be  vic- 
torious. Whoever  is  to  lead  to  success  our  disordered,  fam- 
ished, disorganized  army  must,  above  all  things,  possess  its 
full  confidence.  Besides  which,  without  further  events,  I 
cannot  dismiss  the  commanding  general,  Scherer,  but  I 
must  wait  until  some  new  disgrace  furnishes  me  the  right 
to  do  so.     You  know  all.     Judge  for  yourself." 

"I  have  already  made  all  these  objections  within  my 
own  mind,"  replied  Bonaparte,  quietly ;  "  yet  I  do  not  de- 
spair that  if  you  will  give  me  your  advice  and  assistance,  I 
will  overcome  all  these  diflRculties.  Listen  to  me,  and  I  will 
let  you  know  my  plan  for  the  arrangement  of  the  war,  and 
I  am  convinced  you  will  give  it  your  sanction." 

With  glowing  eloquence,  complete  clearness  and  assur- 
ance, and  the  convincing  quietude  of  a  persuaded,  all-em- 
bracing, all-weighing  mind,  Bonaparte  unfolded  the  daring 
and  astounding  plan  of  his  campaign.  As  he  spoke,  his 
face  brightened  more  and  more,  his  eyes  glowed  with  the 
fire  of  inspiration,  his  countenance  beamed  with  that  ex- 
alted, wondrous  beauty  which  is  granted  to  genius  alone  in 
the  highest  moments  of  its  ecstasy ;  the  small,  insignificant, 
pale  young  man  became  the  bold,  daring  hero,  who  was 
fully  prepared  gladly  to  tread  a  world  under  his  feet. 


270  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Camot,  who  had  looked  on  in  astonishment,  was  finally 
carried  away,  inspired  by  the  persuasive  eloquence  of  the 
young  general,  who  in  a  few  words  understood  how  to  map 
out  battle-fields,  to  measure  whole  engagements,  and  to 
give  to  every  one  the  needful  and  appropriate  place. 

"  You  are  right,"  cried  Camot,  delighted,  and  offering 
his  hand  to  Bonaparte.  "  This  plan  must  be  carried  out, 
and  then  we  shall  conquer  our  enemies.  I  no  longer  doubt 
of  the  result,  and  from  this  moment  you  can  rely  upon  me. 
You  shall  be  commander-in-chief  of  the  army  in  Italy. 
I  will  myself  propose  you  to  the  Directory,  and  I  will 
so  warmly  speak  in  your  favor,  that  my  request  will  be 
granted."  * 

On  this  day  the  face  of  General  Bonaparte  was  irradi- 
ated with  a  still  deeper  lustre  than  when  Josephine  avowed 
that  his  love  was  returned,  and  when  she  consented  to  be 
his. 

Josephine's  affianced,  in  the  depths  of  his  heart,  retained 
a  deep,  unfulfilled  desire,  an  unreached  aim  of  his  existence. 
The  commanding  general  of  the  army  in  Italy  had  nothing 
more  to  wish,  or  to  long  for ;  he  now  stood  at  hope's  sum- 
mit, and  saw  before  him  the  brilliant,  glorious  goal  of  am- 
bition toward  which  the  path  lay  open  before  him. 

Love  alone  could  not  satisfy  the  heart  of  Napoleon  ;  the 
larger  portion  of  it  belonged  to  ambition — to  the  lust  for  a 
warrior's  fame. 

"  I  am  going  to  live  only  for  the  future,"  said  Bonaparte, 
that  day,  to  Junot,  as  he  related  to  him  the  successful  re- 
sult of  his  interview  with  Camot.  "  None  of  you  know  me 
yet,  but  you  will  soon.  You  will  see  what  I  can  do :  I  feel 
within  me  something  which  urges  me  onward.  Too  long 
has  the  war  been  limited  to  a  single  district ;  I  will  take  it 
into  the  heart  of  the  continent,  I  will  bring  it  on  fresh  soil, 

*  "  M^moires  historiques  et  militaires,  sur  Camot,"  yoI.  iL 


MARRIAGE.  271 

and  80  carry  it  out  that  the  men  of  habit  will  lose  their 
footing,  and  the  old  officers  their  heads,  so  that  they  will  no 
more  know  where  they  are.  The  soldiers  will  see  what  one 
man,  with  a  will  of  iron,  can  accomplish.  All  this  I  will 
do — and  from  this  day  I  strike  out  from  the  dictionary  the 
word  '  impossible  ! ' " 

Carnot  was  true  to  his  word.  On  the  23  d  day  of  Febru- 
ary, 1796,  Bonaparte  was  appointed  by  the  Directory  com- 
mander-in-chief of  the  army  of  Italy. 

From  the  face  of  the  young  general  beamed  forth  the 
smile  of  victory ;  he  was  now  certain  of  the  future  !  He  now 
knew  that  to  his  Josephine  he  could  offer  more  than  a  hat 
and  a  sword,  that  he  would  bring  her  undying  fame  and  vic- 
tory's brilliant  crown.  This  was  to  be  the  dowry  before 
which  the  twenty-five  thousand  francs'  yearly  income,  which 
the  little  giant  Kagideau  had  so  highly  prized,  would  fall 
into  the  background. 

On  the  9  th  of  March  the  marriage  between  General  Bona- 
parte and  the  widow  Viscountess  Josephine  de  Beauhar- 
nais  took  place.  Barras,  as  member  of  the  government,  was 
Bonaparte's  first  witness ;  his  second  was  Captain  Lemar- 
rois,  his  adjutant ;  and  the  choice  of  this  witness  was  a 
delicate  homage  which  Napoleon  paid  to  his  dear  Jose- 
phine :  for  Lemarrois  was  the  one  who  had  first  led  the  boy 
Eugene  to  Bonaparte,  and  had  thus  been  the  means  of  his 
acquaintance  with  Josephine. 

The  two  witnesses  of  Josephine  were  Tallien,  who  had 
delivered  her  from  prison,  and  to  whom  she  owed  the  res- 
toration of  her  property,  and  a  M.  Calmelet,  an  old  friend 
and  counsellor  of  the  Beauharnais  family.* 

In  the  pure  modesty  of  her  heart,  Josephine  had  not  de- 
sired that  the  two  children  of  her  deceased  husband  should 
be  the  witnesses  of  her  second  marriage,  and  Bonaparte  was 

♦  "  Souvenirs  historiques  du  Baron  de  Meneval,"  vol.  i.,  p.  340. 


272  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

glad  that  Josephine's  bridal  wreath  would  not  be  bedewed 
with  the  tears  of  memory. 

On  this  happy  day  of  Bonaparte's  marriage,  so  much  of 
the  past  was  set  aside,  that  the  certificate  of  baptism  of  the 
betrothed  was  forgotten,  and  the  number  of  years  which 
made  Josephine  older  than  Bonaparte  was  struck  out. 

The  civil  record,  which  M.  Leclerc  received  of  the  mar- 
riage of  Bonaparte  and  Josephine,  describes  them  as  being 
nearly  of  the  same  age,  for  it  ran  thus  :  "  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte, born  in  Ajaccio,  on  the  5th  of  February,  1768 ;  and 
Marie  Josephe  Rosa  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie,  born  in  Marti- 
nique, the  23d  of  June,  1767." 

Bonaparte's  glowing  and  impassioned  love  led  him — in 
order  to  spare  his  Josephine  the  smallest  degree  of  humilia- 
tion— to  alter  and  destroy  the  dates  of  the  certificate  of 
their  baptism ;  for  Bonaparte  was  born  on  the  15th  of 
August,  1769,  and  Josephine  on  the  23d  of  June,  1763. 
She  was  consequently  six  years  older  than  he ;  but  she 
knew  not  that  these  six  years  would,  one  day,  be  the  abyss 
which  was  to  swallow  her  happiness,  her  love,  her  grandeur. 

Two  days  after  his  marriage  with  Josephine,  Bonaparte 
left  Paris  for  the  army,  to  travel  in  haste,  an  uninterrupted 
journey  toward  Italy. 

"  I  must  hasten  to  my  post,"  said  he  smiling  to  Jose- 
phine, "  for  an  army  without  a  chief  is  like  a  widow  who 
can  commit  foolish  deeds  and  endanger  her  reputation.  I 
am  responsible  for  the  army's  conduct  from  the  moment  of 
my  appointment." 


BONAPARTE'S  LOVE-LETTEES.  273 

CHAPTEK  XXIV. 

BONAPARTE'S  LOVE-LETTEBS. 

Carnot  had  told  Bonapaxte  the  truth  concerning  the 
state  of  the  army  in  Italy.  His  statements  were  sustained 
by  the  proclamation  which  the  new  commander-in-chief  of 
the  army  in  Italy  addressed  to  his  soldiers,  as  for  the  first 
time  he  welcomed  them  at  Nice. 

"  Soldiers,"  said  he,  "  you  are  naked  and  badly  fed ;  the 
government  owes  you  much,  and  can  give  you  nothing. 
Your  patience  and  the  courage  you  have  exhibited  amid 
these  rocks  are  worthy  of  admiration ;  but  you  gain  no 
fame :  no  glory  falls  upon  you  here.  I  will  lead  you  into 
the  fertile  plains  of  the  world ;  rich  provinces  and  large 
cities  will  fall  into  ydur  power ;  there  you  will  find  honor, 
fame,  and  abundance.  Soldiers  of  Italy,  would  you  fail  in 
courage  and  perseverance  ?  "  * 

The  mangled,  ragged,  half -starved  soldiers  answered 
with  loud  enthusiastic  shouts.  When  the  vivats  had  died 
away,  an  old  veteran  came  out  of  the  ranks,  and  with  coun- 
tenance half -defiant,  half-smiling,  looking  at  the  little  gen- 
eral, he  asked  :  "  General,  what  must  we  do  that  the  roasted 
partridges,  which  are  promised  to  us,  may  fly  into  our 
mouths?" 

"Conquer,"  cried  Bonaparte,  with  a  loud  resounding 
voice — "conquer!  To  the  brave,  glo^y  and  good  repasts! 
To  the  coward,  disgrace  !  To  the  faint-hearted,  misery ! 
I  will  lead  you  into  the  path  of  victory.  Will  you  fol- 
low?" 

"  We  will,  we  will ! "  shouted  the  soldiers.  "  Long  live 
the  little  general  who  is  to  deliver  us  from  our  wretched- 
ness, who  is  to  lead  us  into  victory's  path  !  " 

•  Norvins,  "  Histoire  de  Napol&)n,"  voL  i.,  p.  89l 


274  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Bonaparte  kept  his  word.  He  led  them  to  Voltri,  to  the 
bridge  of  Areola,  to  Lodi. 

But  amid  his  wild  career  of  figlits,  hardships,  vigils, 
studies,  and  perils,  the  thought  of  Josephine  was  the  guiding 
star  of  his  heart.  His  mind  was  with  her  amid  the  battle's 
storm ;  he  thought  of  her  in  the  camp,  on  the  march,  in  the 
greatest  conflict,  and  after  the  most  brilliant  victories.  This 
was  shown  in  the  letters  he  wrote  every  day  to  Josephine ; 
and  in  the  brilliant  hymns  which  the  warrior,  amid  the  car- 
nage of  war,  sung  with  the  enthusiastic  fervor  of  a  poet  to 
his  love  and  to  his  happiness. 

It  is  the  mission  of  eminent  historians,  when  describing 
his  victorious  campaign  of  Italy,  to  narrate  his  conquests ; 
our  mission  is  simply  to  observe  him  in  his  conduct  toward 
Josephine,  and  to  show  how  under  the  uniform  of  the  war- 
rior beat  the  heart  of  the  lover. 

The  letters  which  Bonaparte  then  wrote  to  Josephine  are 
consequently  what  concerns  us  most,  and  from  which  we 
will  select  a  few  as  a  proof  of  the  impassioned  love  which 
Napoleon  felt  for  his  young  wife. 

Letters  of  General  Bonaparte  to  Josephine. 


"  Port  Maurice,  t?ie  14th  Germinal  {April  S),  1796. 
"  I  have  received  all  your  letters,  but  none  has  made  so 
much  impression  on  me  as  the  last  one.  How  can  you,  my 
adored  friend,  speak  to  me  in  that  way  ?  Do  you  not  be- 
lieve that  my  situation  here  is  already  horrible  enough, 
without  your  exciting  my  longings,  and  still  more  setting 
my  soul  in  rebellion?  What  a  style!  what  emotions  you 
describe !  They  glow  like  fire,  they  burn  my  poor  heart ! 
My  own  Josephine,  away  from  you,  there  is  no  joy ;  away 
from  you,  the  world  is  a  wilderness  in  which  I  feel  alone, 
and  have  no  one  in  whom  I  can  confide.     You  have  taken 


BONAPARTE'S  LOVE-LETTERS.  275 

from  me  more  than  my  soul ;  you  are  the  only  thought  of 
my  life.  When  I  feel  weary  with  the  burden  of  affairs,  when 
I  dread  some  inauspicious  result,  when  men  oppose  me, 
when  I  am  ready  to  curse  life  itself,  I  place  my  hand  upon 
my  heart,  your  image  beats  there ;  I  gaze  on  it,  and  love  is 
for  me  absolute  bliss,  and  everything  smiles  except  when  I 
am  away  from  my  beloved. 

"  By  what  art  have  you  been  able  to  enchain  all  my 
powers,  and  to  concentrate  in  yourself  all  my  mental  exist- 
ence? It  is  an  enchantment,  my  dear  friend,  which  is  to 
end  only  with  my  life.  To  live  for  Josephine,  such  is  the 
history  of  my  life !  I  am  working  to  return  to  you,  I  ^m 
dying  to  approach  you !  Fool  that  I  am,  I  see  not  that  I 
am  more  and  more  drifting  away  from  you !  How  much 
space,  how  many  mountains  separate  us !  how  long  before 
you  can  read  these  words,  the  feeble  expression  of  a  throb- 
bing soul  in  which  you  rule !  Ah,  my  adored  wife,  I  know 
not  what  future  awaits  me,  but  if  it  keeps  me  much  longer 
away  from  you,  it  will  be  intolerable ;  my  courage  reaches 
not  that  far.  There  was  a  time  when  I  was  proud  of  my 
reputation ;  and  sometimes  when  I  cast  my  eyes  on  the 
wrong  which  men  could  have  done  me,  on  the  fate  which 
Providence  might  have  in  reserve  for  me,  I  prepared  myself 
for  the  most  unheard-of  adversities  without  wrinkling  the 
brow  or  suffering  fear ;  but  now  the  thought  that  my  Jose- 
phine should  be  uncomfortable,  or  sick,  or,  above  all,  the 
cruel,  horrible  thought  that  she  might  love  me  less,  makes 
my  soul  tremble,  and  my  blood  to  remain  still,  bringing  on 
sadness,  despondency,  and  taking  away  even  the  courage  of 
anger  and  despair.  In  times  past  I  used  to  say,  '  Men  have 
no  power  over  him  who  dies  without  regret.'  But  now  to 
die  without  being  loved  by  you,  to  die  without  the  certainty 
of  being  loved,  is  for  me  the  pains  of  hell,  the  living,  fearful 
feeling  of  complete  annihilation.  It  is  as  if  I  were  going  to 
suffocate !     My  own  companion,  you  whom  fate  has  given 


276  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

me,  to  make  life's  painful  journey,  the  day  when  no  more 
I  can  call  your  heart  mine,  when  nature  will  be  for  me 
without  warmth,  without  vitality.  ...  I  will  give  way, 
my  sweet  friend  {ma  douce  amie) ;  my  soul  is  sorrowful, 
my  body  languishes;  men  weary  me.  I  have  a  good 
right  to  detest  them,  for  they  keep  me  away  from  my 
heart. 

"  I  am  now  in  Port  Maurice,  near  to  Oneglia ;  to-morrow 
I  go  to  Albenga.  Both  armies  are  moving  forward ;  we  are 
endeavoring  to  deceive  each  other.  Victory  belongs  to  the 
swiftest.  I  am  well  satisfied  with  General  Beaulieu,  he 
manoeuvres  well ;  he  is  a  stronger  man  than  his  predecessor. 
I  trust  to  beat  him  soundly.  Be  without  care ;  love  me  as 
your  eyes;  but  no,  that  is  not  enough,  as  yourself,  more 
than  yourself,  as  your  thoughts,  as  your  spirit,  your  life, 
your  all !  Sweet  friend,  pardon  me ;  I  am  beyond  myself ; 
nature  is  too  weak  for  him  who  feels  with  passion,  for  him 
whom  you  love. 

"  To  Barras,  Sucy,  Madame  Tallien,  my  heart-felt  friend- 
ship; to  Madame  Chateau  Renaud,  kindest  regards;  for 
Eugene  and  Hortense,  my  true  love.  N.  B." 

n. 

••  Albenga,  the  18th  Germinal  (April  7),  1796.* 
"  I  have  just  now  received  your  letter,  which  you  break 
off,  as  you  say,  to  go  to  the  country ;  and  then,  you  assume 
a  tone  as  if  you  were  envious  of  me,  who  am  here  nearly 

*  The  three  following  letters  have  never  been  published  until  recent- 
ly, and  are  not  to  be  found  in  any  collection  of  letters  from  Napoleon 
and  Josephine,  not  even  among  those  published  by  Queen  Hortense : 
"  Lettres  de  Napoleon  k  Josephine,  et  de  Josephine  k  Napoleon."  They 
are  published  for  the  first  time  in  the  "  Histoire  de  I'lmp^ratrice  Jose- 
phine," by  Aubenas,  and  were  communicated  to  this  author  in  Napo- 
Icon's  manuscript  by  the  well-known  and  famous  gatherer  of  auto- 
graphs, Feuillet  de  Couches. 


BONAPARTE'S  LOVE-LETTERS.  277 

overwhelmed  by  affairs  and  by  exertion !  Ah,  my  dear 
friend,  ....  it  is  true,  I  am  wrong.  In  the  spring  it  is  so 
pleasant  in  the  country ;  and  then  the  beloved  one  of 
eighteen  years  will  be  so  happy  there ;  how  would  it  be  pos- 
sible to  lose  one  moment  for  the  sake  of  writing  to  him  who 
is  three  hundred  miles  away  from  you,  who  lives,  breathes, 
exists  only  in  remembering  you,  who  reads  your  letters  as 
a  man,  after  hunting  for  six  hours,  devours  a  meal  he  is 
fond  of. 

"  I  am  satisfied.  Your  last  letter  is  cold,  like  friendship. 
I  have  not  found  in  it  the  fire  which  glows  in  your  eyes,  the 
fire  which  I  have  at  least  imagined  to  be  there.  So  far  runs 
my  fancy.  I  found  that  your  first  letters  oppressed  my 
soul  too  much ;  the  revolution  which  they  created  in  me 
disturbed  my  peace  and  bewildered  my  senses.  I  wanted 
letters  more  cold,  and  now  they  bring  on  me  the  chill  of 
death.  The  fear  of  being  no  more  loved  by  Josephine— the 
thought  of  having  her  inconstant — of  seeing  her  ....  But 
I  martyrize  myself  with  anguish !  There  is  enough  in  the 
reality,  without  imagining  any  more !  You  cannot  have  in- 
spired me  with  this  immeasurable  love  without  sharing  it ; 
and  with  such  a  soul,  such  thoughts,  such  an  understanding 
as  you  possess,  it  is  impossible  that,  as  a  reward  for  the 
most  glowing  attachment  and  devotion,  you  should  return  a 
mortal  blow.  .  .  . 

"  You  say  nothing  of  your  bodily  sufferings ;  they  have 
my  regret.  Farewell  till  to-morrow,  into  dolce  amor.  From 
my  own  wife  a  thought — and  from  fate  a  victory ;  these  are 
all  my  wishes  :  one  sole,  undivided  thought  from  you,  worthy 
of  him  who  every  moment  thinks  of  you. 

"My  brother  is  here.  He  has  heard  of  my  marriage 
with  pleasure.  He  longs  to  become  acquainted  with  you. 
I  am  endeavoring  to  persuade  him  to  go  to  Paris.  His  wife 
has  recently  given  birth  to  a  daughter.  They  send  you  a 
box  of  bonbons  from  Genoa  as  a  present.    You  will  receive 


378  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

oranges,  perfumes,  and   water  of  orange-flowers,  which  I 
send  you.    Junot  and  Murat  send  their  best  wishes. 

«  N.  B." 

The  victory  which  Bonaparte  implored  from  his  destiny 
was  soon  to  take  place ;  and  the  battle  of  Mondovi,  which 
followed  the  capitulation  of  Cherasco,  made  Bonaparte  mas- 
ter of  Piedmont  and  of  the  passes  of  the  Alps.  He  sent  his 
brother  Joseph  to  Paris,  to  lay  before  the  Directory  pressing 
considerations  concerning  the  necessity  and  importance  of 
concluding  a  permanent  peace  with  the  King  of  Sardinia, 
so  as  to  isolate  Austria  entirely  in  Italy.  At  the  same  time 
Junot  was  to  take  to  the  Directory  the  conquered  standards. 
Joseph  and  Junot  travelled  together  from  Nice  by  means  of 
post-horses,  and  they  made  so  rapid  a  journey  that  in  one 
hundred  and  twenty  hours  they  reached  Paris. 

The  victor's  messengers  and  the  conquered  flags  were 
received  in  Paris  with  shouts  of  rapture,  and  with  a  glowing 
enthusiasm  for  General  Bonaparte.  His  name  was  on  every 
tongue.  In  the  streets  and  on  the  squares  crowds  gathered 
together  to  talk  of  the  glorious  news,  and  to  shout  their  ac- 
clamations to  the  brave  army  and  its  general.  Even  the 
Directory,  the  five  monarchs  of  France,  shared  the  universal 
joy  and  enthusiasm.  They  received  Joseph  and  Junot  with 
affable  complacency,  and  communicated  to  the  army  and  to 
its  general  public  eulogies.  In  honor  of  the  messengers 
who  had  brought  the  standards  and  the  propositions  of 
peace,  they  gave  a  brilliant  banquet ;  and  Camot,  proud  of 
having  been  the  one  who  had  brought  about  Bonaparte's 
appointment,  went  so  far  in  his  enthusiasm  as  at  the  close 
of  the  banquet  to  tear  his  garments  open  and  exhibit  to  the 
assembled  guests  Napoleon's  portrait  which  he  carried  on 
his  breast. 

"  Tell  your  brother,"  cried  he  to  Joseph,  "  that  I  carry 
him  here  on  my  heart,  for  I  foresee  he  will  be  the  deliverer 


BONAPARTE'S  LOVE-LETTERS.  279 

of  France,  and  therefore  he  must  know  that  in  the  Direct- 
ory he  has  only  admirers  and  friends."  * 

But  something  else,  more  glorious  than  these  salutations 
of  love  from  France  and  from  the  Directory,  was  to  be 
brought  back  by  his  messengers  to  the  victorious  com- 
mander— his  wife,  his  Josephine ;  he  claimed  her  as  the  re- 
ward of  battles  won.  Joseph  was  not  only  the  messenger 
of  the  general,  he  was  also  the  messenger  of  the  lover ;  and 
before  delivering  his  papers  to  the  Directory,  he  had  first, 
as  Bonaparte  had  ordered  him,  to  deliver  to  Josephine  his 
letter  which  called  her  to  Milan.  Napoleon  had  thus  writ- 
ten to  her : 

m. 

:  "TO  MY  SWEET  FRIEND! 

"  Caen,  the  Srd  Floreal  (May  24),  1796. 

"  My  brother  will  hand  you  this  letter.  I  cherish  for 
him  the  most  intimate  friendship.  I  trust  he  will  also  gain 
your  affection.  He  deserves  it.  Nature  has  gifted  him 
with  a  tender  and  inexhaustibly  good  character ;  he  is  full 
of  rare  qualities.  I  write  to  Barras  to  have  him  appointed 
consul  to  some  Italian  port.  He  desires  to  live  with  his 
little  wife  away  from  the  world's  great  stream  of  events.  I 
recommend  him  to  you. 

"  I  have  received  your  letters  of  the  16th  and  of  the  21st. 
You  have  indeed  for  many  days  forgotten  to  write.  What, 
then,  are  you  doing  ?  Yes,  my  dear  friend,  I  am  not  ex- 
actly jealous,  but  I  am  sometimes  uneasy.  Hasten,  then, 
for  I  tell  you  beforehand  that  if  you  delay  I  shall  be  sick. 
So  great  exertion,  combined  with  your  absence,  is  too  much. 

"  Your  letters  are  the  joys  of  my  days,  and  my  happy 
days  are  not  too  many.  Junot  takes  to  Paris  twenty-two 
standards.     You  will  come  back  with  him,  will  you  not  ? 

*  "  Memoires  du  Roi  Joseph,"  vol.  i,,  p,  62. 
39 


280  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

....  Misery  without  remedy,  sorrow  without  comfort,  un- 
mitigated anguish,  will  be  my  portion  if  it  is  my  misfortune 
to  see  him  come  back  alone,  my  own  adored  wife !  lie  will 
see  you,  he  will  breathe  at  your  shrine,  and  perhaps  you  will 
even  grant  him  the  special  and  unsurpassed  privilege  of 
kissing  your  cheeks,  and  I,  I  will  be  far,  far  away !  You 
will  come  here,  at  my  side,  to  my  heart,  in  my  arms  !  Take 
wings,  come,  come  !  Yet,  journey  slowly ;  the  road  is  long, 
bad,  fatiguing !  If  your  carriage  were  to  upset,  if  some 
calamity  were  to  happen,  if  the  exertion  ....  Set  out  at 
once,  ray  beloved  one,  but  travel  slowly ! 

"  I  have  received  a  letter  from  Hortense,  a  very  accept- 
able one  indeed.  I  am  going  to  answer  it.  1  love  her  much, 
and  will  soon  send  her  the  perfumes  she  desires.      N.  B." 

But  Josephine  could  not  meet  at  once  the  ardent  wishes 
of  her  husband.  She  had,  on  the  receipt  of  his  letter,  made 
with  Joseph  all  the  necessary  preparations  for  the  journey ; 
but  the  ailment  which  had  so  long  troubled  her,  broke  out, 
and  a  violent  illness  prostrated  her. 

Bonaparte's  suffering  and  anger  at  this  news  were  un- 
bounded ;  a  terrible  restlessness  and  anxiety  took  possession 
of  him,  and,  to  obtain  speedy  and  reliable  news  from  Jose- 
phine, he  sent  from  Milan  to  Paris  a  special  courier,  whose 
only  business  it  was  to  carry  a  letter  to  Josephine. 

The  general  had  nothing  to  communicate  to  the  Direct- 
ory ;  it  was  only  the  lover  writing  to  his  beloved !  What 
fire,  what  energy  of  passion,  penetrated  him,  is  evident 
from  the  following  letter  : 

IV. 

"  ToRTONA,  at  noon,  the  27th  Prairiai, 
"  In  the  Tear  IV.  of  the  Republic  (15th  June,  1796). 

"  To  Josephine  :  My  life  is  a  ceaseless  Alpine  burden. 
An  oppressive  foreboding  prevents  me  from  breathing.    I 


BONAPARTE'S  LOVE-LETTEES.  281 

live  no  more,  I  have  lost  more  than  life,  more  than  happi- 
ness, more  than  rest !  I  am  without  hope.  I  send  you  a 
courier.  He  will  remain  only  four  hours  in  Paris,  and  re- 
turn with  your  answer.  Write  me  only  ten  lines ;  they  will 
be  some  comfort  to  me.  .  .  .  You  are  sick,  you  love  me,  I 
have  troubled  you  ;  you  are  pregnant,  and  I  cannot  see  you. 
This  thought  bewilders  me.  I  have  done  you  so  much 
wrong,  that  I  know  not  how  to  make  amends  for  it.  I 
found  fault  because  you  remained  in  Paris,  and  you  were 
sick !  Forgive  me,  my  beloved.  The  passion  you  have  in- 
spired in  me  has  taken  my  reason  away ;  I  cannot  find  it 
again.  One  is  never  cured  of  this  evil.  My  contemplations 
are  so  horrible,  that  it  would  be  a  satisfaction  to  see  you ; 
to  press  you  for  two  hours  to  my  heart,  and  then,  to  die  to- 
gether !  Who  takes  care  of  you  ?  I  imagine  that  you  have 
sent  for  Hortense.  I  love  this  child  a  thousand  times  more, 
when  I  think  she  can  comfort  you  somewhat.  As  regards 
myself,  there  will  be  no  solace,  no  rest,  no  hope,  before  the 
courier  whom  I  have  sent  to  you  has  returned,  and  you  have 
told  me  in  a  long  letter  the  cause  of  your  illness,  and  how 
serious  it  is.  I  tell  you  beforehand  that  if  it  is  dangerous  I 
will  at  once  go  to  Paris.  My  presence  would  be  called  for 
by  your  sickness.  I  have  always  been  fortunate.  Never 
has  Fate  stood  against  my  wishes,  and  to-day  it  strikes  me 
where  only  wounds  are  possible.  Josephine,  how  can  you 
delay  so  long  in  writing  to  me  ?  Your  last  laconic  note  is 
dated  the  3d  of  this  month,  and  this  adds  to  my  sorrow. 
Yet  I  have  it  always  in  my  pocket.  Your  portrait  and  your 
letters  are  always  under  my  eyes. 

"  I  am  nothing  without  you.  I  can  scarcely  understand 
how  I  have  lived  without  knowing  you.  Ah,  Josephine,  if 
you  know  my  heart,  could  you  remain  without  writing  from 
the  29th  of  May  to  the  16th  of  June,  and  not  travel  hither? 
Have  you  lent  an  ear  to  faithless  friends,  who  wish  to  keep 
you  away  from  me  ?    I  am  angry  with  the  whole  world ;  I 


283  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

accuse  every  one  round  about  you.  I  had  calculated  that 
you  would  leave  on  the  5th,  and  be  at  Milan  on  the  15th. 

"  Josephine,  if  you  love  me,  if  you  believe  that  all  de- 
pends on  the  recovery  of  your  health,  take  good  care  of 
yourself.  I  dare  not  tell  you  not  to  undertake  so  long  a 
journey — not  to  travel  in  the  heat,  if  you  possibly  can  move. 
Make  small  journeys ;  write  to  me  at  every  stopping-place, 
and  send  me  each  time  your  letters  by  a  courier.  .  .  .  Your 
sickness  troubles  me  by  night  and  by  day.  Without  appe- 
tite or  sleep,  without  regard  for  friendship,  reputation,  or 
country ! — ^you  and  you  alone !  The  rest  of  the  world  exists 
no  more  for  me  than  if  it  were  sunk  into  oblivion.  I  still 
cling  to  honor,  for  you  hold  to  it ;  to  fame,  for  it  is  a  joy  to 
you ;  if  it  were  not  for  this,  I  would  have  abandoned  every 
thing  to  hasten  to  your  feet. 

"  Sometimes,  I  say  to  myself :  '  I  trouble  myself  without 
cause,  she  is  already  well,  she  has  left  Paris  and  is  on  the 
way,  she  is  perhaps  in  Lyons.' .  .  .  Fruitless  deception ! 
You  are  in  your  bed,  suffering — more  interesting — more 
worthy  of  adoration ;  you  are  pale,  and  your  eyes  are  more 
languishing  than  ever !  when  you  are  well  again,  if  one  of 
us  is  to  be  sick,  cannot  I  be  the  one  ?  for  I  am  stronger,  I 
have  more  vital  power,  and  would  therefore  sooner  conquer 
sickness.     Fate  is  cruel,  it  strikes  me  through  you. 

"  What  sometimes  comforts  me  is  to  know  that  on  fate 
depends  your  sickness,  but  that  it  depends  on  no  one  to 
oblige  me  to  outlive  you. 

"  Be  careful,  my  dearly-beloved  •  one,  to  tell  me  in  your 
letter  that  you  are  convinced  that  I  love  you  above  all  that 
can  be  conceived ;  that  never  has  it  come  to  me  to  think  of 
other  women ;  that  they  are  all  in  my  eyes  without  grace, 
beauty,  or  wit ;  that  you,  you  entirely,  you  as  I  see  you,  as 
you  are,  can  please  me  and  fetter  all  the  powers  of  my  soul; 
that  you  have  grasped  it  in  all  its  immeasurableness ;  that 
my  heart  has  no  folds  closed  from  your  eyes,  no  thoughts 


BONAPARTE'S  LOVE-LETTERS.  283 

which  belong  not  to  you ;  that  my  energies,  arms,  mind, 
eyery  thing  in  me,  is  subject  to  you  ;  that  my  spirit  lives  in 
your  body ;  that  the  day  when  you  will  be  inconstant  or 
when  you  will  cease  to  live,  will  be  the  day  of  my  death, 
and  that  nature  and  earth  are  beautiful  to  my  eyes  only 
because  you  live  in  them.  If  you  do  not  believe  all  this,  if 
your  soul  is  not  convinced  of  it,  penetrated  with  it,  then  1 
am  deceived  in  you,  then  you  love  me  no  more.  A  magnetic 
fluid  runs  between  persons  who  love  one  another.  You 
know  that  I  could  never  see,  much  less  could  I  endure,  a 
lover :  to  see  him  and  to  tear  his  heart  would  be  one  and  the 
game  thing;  and  then  I  might  even  lay  hands  on  your 
sacred  person  ....  no,  I  would  never  dare  do  it,  but  I 
would  fly  from  a  world  where  those  I  deem  the  most  vir- 
tuous have  deceived  me. 

"  But  I  am  certain  of  your  love,  and  proud  of  it.  Acci- 
dents are  probations  which  keep  alive  all  the  energies  of  our 
mutual  affections.  My  adored  one,  you  will  give  birth  to  a 
child  resembling  his  mother;  it  will  pass  many  years  in 
your  arms.  Unfortunate  that  I  am,  I  would  be  satisfied 
with  one  day !  A  thousand  kisses  on  your  eyes  and  lips  I 
....  adored  wife,  how  mighty  is  your  spell !  I  am  ill  on 
account  of  your  illness.  I  have  a  burning  fever.  Retain 
the  courier  no  longer  than  six  hours ;  then  let  him  return, 
that  he  may  bring  me  a  letter  from  my  sovereign.     N.  B." 

These  were  the  first  letters  which  Josephine  received 
from  her  loving,  tender  husband.  They  are  a  splendid 
monument  of  affection  with  which  love  adorns  the  solitary 
grave  of  the  departed  empress;  and  surely  in  the  dark 
hours  of  her  life,  the  remembrance  of  these  days  of  happi- 
ness, of  these  letters  so  full  of  passionate  ardor,  must  have 
alleviated  the  bitterness  of  her  grief  and  given  her  the  con- 
solation that  at  least  she  was  once  loved  as  perhaps  no  other 
woman  on  eartli  can  boast !     All  these  letters  of  Bonaparte, 


284  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

during  the  days  of  his  first  prosperity,  and  of  his  earnest 
cravings,  Josephine  had  carefully  gathered  ;  they  were  to  be, 
amid  the  precious  and  costly  treasures  which  the  future  was 
to  lay  at  her  feet,  the  most  glorious  and  most  prized,  and 
which  she  preserved  with  sacred  loyalty  as  long  as  she  lived. 

This  is  the  reason  that,  out  of  all  the  letters  which  Bo- 
naparte wrote  to  Josephine  during  long  years,  not  one  is 
lost ;  that  there  is  no  gap  in  the  correspondence,  and  that 
we  can  with  complete  certainty,  from  week  to  week  and 
year  to  year,  follow  the  relations  which  existed  between 
them,  and  that  the  thermometer  can  be  placed  on  Bona- 
parte's heart  to  observe  how  by  degrees  the  heat  diminishes, 
the  warmth  of  passion  disappears  into  the  cool  temperature 
of  a  quiet  friendship,  and  how  it  never  sinks  to  cold  indif- 
ference, even  when  Josephine  had  to  yield  to  the  young  and 
proud  daughter  of  Austria,  and  give  up  her  place  at  the 
side  of  the  emperor. 

Of  all  the  letters  of  Josephine  to  Bonaparte,  which  were 
now  so  glowing  that  they  seemed  to  devour  him  with  flames 
of  fire  and  bewildered  his  senses,  and  then  so  cold  and  in- 
different that  they  caused  the  chill  of  death  to  pass  over  his 
frame — of  all  these,  not  one  has  been  preserved  to  posterity. 
Perhaps  the  Emperor  Napoleon  destroyed  them ;  when  in 
the  Tuileries  he  received  Josephine's  successor,  his  second 
wife,  and  when  he  endeavored  to  destroy  in  his  own  proud 
heart  the  memory  of  the  beautiful,  happy  past,  he  there 
destroyed  those  letters,  that  they  might  return  to  dust,  even 
as  his  o?ni  love  had  returned. 


JOSEPHINE  IN  ITALY.  285 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

JOSEPHINE   IN   ITALY. 

Bonaparte's  letter,  which  the  courier  brought  to  Jose- 
phine, found  her  recovered,  and  ready  to  follow  her  hus- 
band's call,  and  go  to  Milan.  But  she  was  deprived  of  one 
precious  and  joyous  hope :  the  child,  which  Bonaparte  so 
much  envied  because  it  would  pass  many  years  in  Jose- 
phine's arms,  was  never  to  be  born. 

In  the  last  days  of  the  month  of  June  Josephine  arrived 
in  Milan.  Her  whole  journey  had  been  one  uninterrupted 
triumph.  In  Turin,  at  the  court  of  the  King  of  Sardinia, 
she  had  received  the  homage  of  the  people  as  if  she  were 
the  wife  of  a  mighty  ruler ;  and  wherever  she  went,  she  was 
received  with  honors  and  distinction.  To  Turin  Bonaparte 
had  sent  before  him  one  of  his  adjutants,  General  Marmont, 
afterward  Duke  de  Ragusa,  to  convey  to  her  his  kindest 
regards  and  to  accompany  her  with  a  military  escort  as  far  as 
Milan.  In  the  palace  de  Serbelloni,  his  residence  in  Milan, 
adorned  as  for  a  feast,  Bonaparte  received  her  with  a  coun- 
tenance radiant  with  joy  and  happy  smiles  such  as  seldom 
brightened  his  pale,  gloomy  features. 

But  Bonaparte  had  neither  much  time  nor  leisure  to  de- 
vote to  his  domestic  happiness,  to  his  long-expected  reunion 
with  Josephine.  Only  three  days  could  the  happy  lover  ob- 
tain from  the  restless  commander ;  then  he  had  to  tear  him- 
self away  from  his  sweet  repose,  to  carry  on  further  the 
deadly  strife  which  he  had  begun  in  Italy  against  Austria — 
which  had  decided  not  to  give  away  one  foot  of  Lombardy 
without  a  struggle — and  not  to  submit  to  the  conqueror  of 
Lodi.  A  new  army  was  marched  into  Italy  under  the  com- 
mand of  General  Wurmser,  the  same  against  whom,  three 
years  before,  on  the  shores  of  the  Rhine,  Alexandre  de 
Beauharnais  had  fought  in  vain.    At  the  head  of  sixty 


286  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

thousand  men  Wurmser  moved  into  Italy  to  relieve  Mantaa, 
besieged  by  the  French. 

This  alarming  news  awoke  Bonaparte  out  of  his  dream 
of  love,  and  neither  Josephine's  tears  nor  prayers  could  keep 
him  back.  He  sent  couriers  to  Paris,  to  implore  from  the 
Directory  fresh  troops  and  more  money,  to  continue  the 
campaign.  The  Directory  answered  him  with  the  proposi- 
tion to  divide  the  army  of  Italy  into  two  columns,  one  of 
which  would  act  under  the  commander-in-chief,  General 
Kellermann,  the  other  under  Bonaparte. 

But  this  proposition,  which  the  jealous  Directory  made 
for  the  sake  of  breaking  the  growing  power  of  Bonaparte, 
only  served  to  lift  him  a  step  higher  in  his  path  to  the 
brilliant  career  which  he  alone,  in  the  depths  of  his  heart, 
had  traced,  and  the  secret  of  which  his  closed  lips  would 
reveal  to  no  one. 

Bonaparte's  answer  to  this  proposition  of  the  Directory 
was,  that  if  the  power  were  to  be  divided,  he  could  only  re- 
fuse the  half  of  this  division,  and  would  retire  entirely  from 
command. 

He  wrote  to  Carnot :  "  It  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
me  whether  I  carry  on  the  war  here  or  elsewhere.  To  serve 
my  country,  and  deserve  from  posterity  one  page  of  history, 
is  all  my  ambition !  If  both  I  and  Kellermann  command 
in  Italy,  then  all  is  lost.  General  Kellermann  has  more 
experience  than  I,  and  will  carry  on  the  war  more  ably. 
But  the  matter  can  only  be  badly  managed  if  we  both  com- 
mand. It  is  no  pleasure  for  me  to  serve  with  a  man  whom 
Europe  considers  the  first  general  of  the  age." 

Carnot  showed  this  letter  to  the  Directory,  and  declared 
that  if  Bonaparte  were  to  be  given  up,  he  would  himself  re- 
sign his  position  of  secretary  of  war.  The  Directory  was  not 
prepared  to  accept  this  twofold  responsibility,  and  they  sacri- 
ficed Kellermann  to  the  threats  of  Napoleon  and  Carnot. 

General  Bonaparte  was  confirmed  in  his  position  of  com- 


JOSEPHINE  IN  ITALY.  287 

mander-in-chief  of  the  army  in  Italy,  even  for  the  future, 
and  the  conduct  of  the  war  was  left  in  his  hands  alone. 

With  this  fresh  triumph  over  his  enemies  at  home,  Bona- 
parte marched  from  Milan  to  fight  the  re-enforced  enemy  of 
France  in  >;taly. 

On  this  new  war-path,  amid  dangers  and  conflicts,  the 
tumults  r  **  the  fight,  the  noise  of  the  camp,  the  confusion  of 
the  bivouac,  th  young  general  did  not  for  one  moment  for- 
get the  wife  he  so  passionately  loved.  Nearly  every  day  he 
wrote  to  her,  and  those  letters,  which  were  often  written 
between  the  dictation  of  the  battle's  plan,  the  dispatches  to 
the  Directory,  and  he  impending  conflict,  re  faithful  way- 
marks,  whose  directions  i^  easy  to  ollow,  and.  thus  trace 
the  whole  successful  course  of  the  hero  of  Ita.  . 

To  refer  here  to  Bonaparte's  letters  to  Josephine,  implies 
at  once  tho  mention  of  Bonaparte's  deeds  and  of  Josephine's 
happiness.  The  first  letter  which  he  wrote  after  the  inter- 
view in  Milan  is  from  Koverbella,  and  it  tells  her  in  a  few 
words  that  he  has  just  now  beaten  the  foe,  and  that  he  is 
going  to  Verona.  The  second  is  also  short  and  hastily  writ- 
ten, but  is  full  of  many  delicate  assurances  of  love,  and  also 
that  he  has  met  and  defeated  the  foe  at  Verona.  The  third 
letter  is  from  Marmirolo,  and  shows  that  Bonaparte,  not- 
withstanding his  constant  changes  of  position,  had  taken 
the  precautions  that  Josephine's  letters  should  everywhere 
follow  him ;  for  in  Marmirolo  he  received  one,  and  this  ten- 
der letter  filled  him  with  so  much  joy,  thanks,  and  longings, 
that,  in  virtue  of  it,  he  forgets  conquests  and  triumphs  en- 
tirely, and  is  only  the  longing,  tender  lover.    He  writes : 

"  Markibolo,  the  29th  Messidor,  9  in  the  evening 
"  (July  17),  1796. 

"  I  am  just  now  in  receipt  of  your  letter,  my  adored  one ; 
it  has  filled  my  heart  with  joy.  I  am  thankful  for  the  pains 
you  have  taken  to  send  me  news  about  yourself ;  with  your 


5)88  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

improved  health,  all  will  be  well ;  I  am  convinced  that  you 
have  now  recovered.  I  would  impress  upon  you  the  duty 
of  riding  often ;  this  will  be  a  healthy  exercise  for  you. 

"  Since  I  left  you  I  am  forever  sorrowful.  My  happiness 
consists  in  being  near  you.  Constantly  does  my  memory 
renew  your  kisses,  your  tears,  your  amiable  jealousy ;  and 
the  charms  of  the  incomparable  Josephine  kindle  inces- 
santly a  burning  flame  within  my  heart  and  throughout  my 
senses.  When  shall  I,  free  from  all  disturbance  and  care, 
pass  all  my  moments  with  you,  and  have  nothing  to  do  but 
to  love,  nothing  to  think  of  but  the  happiness  to  tell  it  and 
prove  it  to  you  ?  I  am  going  to  send  you  your  horse,  and  I 
trust  you  will  soon  be  able  to  be  with  me.  A  few  days  ago  I 
thought  I  loved  you,  jut  since  I  have  seen  you  again,  I  feel 
that  I  love  you  a  thousand  times  more.  Since  I  knew  you, 
I  worship  you  more  and  more  every  day ;  this  proves  the 
falsity  of  La  Bruy^re's  maxim,  which  says  that  love  springs 
up  all  at  once.  Every  thing  In  nature  has  its  growth  in  dif- 
ferent degrees.  Ah,  I  implore  you,  let  ne  see  some  of  your 
faults;  be  then  less  beautiful,  less  gr«*cefii,  less  tender,  less 
good ;  especially  be  never  tender,  never  weep :  your  tears 
deprive  me  of  my  reason,  and  change  my  blood  into  fire. 
Believe  me,  that  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  have  a  single 
thought  which  concerns  you  not,  or  an  idea  which  is  not 
subservient  to  you. 

"  Keep  very  quiet.  Recover  soon  your  health.  Come  to 
me,  that  at  least  before  dying  we  may  say, '  We  were  happy 
so  many,  many  days ! ' 

"  Millions  of  kisses  even  for  Fortun6,  notwithstanding  its 
naughtiness.*  Bonaparte." 

But  this  letter,  full  of  tenderness  and  warmth,  is  not  yet 
enough  for  the  ardent  lover ;  it  loes  not  express  sufficiently 

*  Fortune  was  that  little  peevish  log  which,  when  Josephine  was 
in  prison,  served  as  love- messenger  between  her  and  her  children. 


JOSEPHINE  IN  ITALY.  289 

his  longing,  his  love.  The  very  next  day,  from  the  same 
quarters  of  Marmirolo,  he  writes  something  like  a  postscript 
to  the  missive  of  the  previous  day.  He  tells  her  that  he  has 
made  an  attack  upon  Mantua,  but  that  a  sudden  fall  of  the 
waters  of  the  lake  had  delayed  his  troops  already  embarked, 
and  that  this  day  he  is  going  to  try  again  in  some  other 
way ;  that  the  enemy  a  few  days  past  had  made  a  sortie  and 
killed  a  few  hundred  men,  but  that  they  themselves,  with 
considerable  loss,  had  to  retreat  rapidly  into  the  fortress,  and 
that  three  Neapolitan  regiments  had  entered  Brescia.  But 
between  each  of  these  sentences  intervene  some  strong  as- 
surance of  his  love,  some  tender  or  flattering  words ;  and 
finally,  at  the  end  of  the  letter,  comes  the  principal  object, 
the  cause  why  it  was  written.  The  tender  lover  wanted 
some  token  from  his  beloved:  it  is  not  enough  for  him 
always  to  carry  her  portrait  and  her  letters,  he  must  also 
have  a  lock  of  her  hair.     He  writes  : 

"  I  have  lost  my  snuffbox  ;  I  pray  you  find  me  another, 
somewhat  more  flat,  and  pray  have  something  pretty  writ- 
ten upon  it,  with  a  lock  of  your  hair.  A  thousand  burning 
kisses,  since  you  are  so  cold,  love  unbounded,  and  faithful- 
ness beyond  all  proof." 

Two  days  afterward  he  writes  again  from  Marmirolo,  at 
first  hastily,  a  few  words  about  the  war,  then  he  comes  to 
the  main  point.  He  has  been  guilty,  toward  Josephine,  of 
a  want  of  politeness,  and,  with  all  the  tenderness  and  hu- 
mility of  a  lover,  he  asks  forgiveness.  Her  pardon  and  her 
constant  tardiness  in  answering  his  letters,  are  to  him  more 
weighty  matters  than  all  the  battles  and  victories  of  his  rest- 
less camp-life,  and  therefore  he  begins  at  once  with  a  com- 
plaint at  his  separation  from  her. 

"  Marmirolo,  the  Ist  Thermidor,  Year  IV.  (July  19,  1796.) 
"  For  the  last  two  days  I  am  without  letters  from  you. 
This  remark  I  have  repeated  thirty  times;  you  feel  that 


290  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

this  for  me  is  sad.  You  cannot,  however,  doubt  of  the 
tenderness  and  undivided  solicitude  with  which  you  in- 
spire me. 

"  We  attacked  Mantua  yesterday.  We  opened  upon  it, 
from  two  batteries,  a  fire  of  shells  and  red-hot  balls.  The 
whole  night  the  unfortunate  city  was  burning.  The  spec- 
tacle was  terrible  and  sublime.  We  have  taken  possession 
of  numerous  outworks,  and  we  open  the  trenches  to-night. 
To-morrow  we  make  our  headquarters  at  Castiglione,  and 
thihk  of  passing  the  night  there. 

"  I  have  received  a  courier  from  Paris.  He  brought  two 
letters  for  you :  I  have  read  them.  Though  this  action 
seems  to  me  very  simple,  as  you  gave  me  permission  so  to 
do,  yet,  I  fear,  it  will  annoy  you,  and  that  troubles  me  ex- 
ceedingly. I  wanted  at  first  to  seal  them  over  again ;  but, 
pshaw !  that  would  have  been  horrible.  If  I  am  guilty,  I  beg 
your  pardon.  I  swear  to  you  I  did  it  not  through  jealousy ; 
no,  certainly  not;  I  have  of  my  adored  one  too  high  an 
opinion  to  indulge  in  such  a  feeling.  I  wish  you  would 
once  for  all  allow  me  to  read  your  letters ;  then  I  should 
not  have  any  twittings  of  conscience  or  fear. 

"  Achilles,  the  courier,  has  arrived  from  Milan ;  no  let- 
ter from  my  adored  one!  Farewell,  my  sole  happiness! 
When  will  you  come,  and  be  with  me?  I  shall  have  to 
fetch  you  from  Milan  myself. 

"A  thousand  kisses,  burning  as  my  heart,  pure  as 
yours  ! 

"  I  have  sent  for  the  courier ;  he  says  he  was  at  your 
residence,  and  that  you  had  nothing  to  say,  nothing  to 
order!  Fie!  wicked,  hateful,  cruel  tyrant! — pretty  little 
monster !  You  laugh  at  my  threats  and  my  madness ;  ah, 
you  know  very  well  that  if  I  could  shut  you  up  in  my 
heart,  I  would  keep  you  there  a  prisoner. 

"  Let  me  know  that  you  are  cheerful,  right  well,  and 
loving  I  Bonaparte." 


JOSEPHINE  IN  ITALY.  29i 

But  Josephine  seems  not  to  have  answered  this  letter  as 
Napoleon  desired.     She  knew  that  it  was  nothing  but  un- 
founded jealousy  which  had  induced  him  to  read  the  letters 
sent  to  her,  and  to  punish  him  for  this  jealousy  she  forbade- 
him  to  read  her  letters  in  the  future. 

But  while  she  reproached  him  in  a  jesting  manner,  and 
punished  him  for  this  jealousy,  she,  herself,  with  all  the 
inconsistency  of  a  lover,  fell  into  the  same  fault,  and  could 
not  hide  from  him  the  jealous  fears  which  the  ladies  from 
Brescia,  especially  the  beautiful  Madame  de  Te ,  had  cre- 
ated within  her  mind.  Bonaparte  answered  this  letter  as 
general,  lover,  and  husband  ;  he  gives  an  account  of  his  war 
operations,  submits  to  her  will  as  a  lover,  and  commands 
her  as  a  husband  to  come  to  him  in  Brescia. 

"  Castiglione,  the  4th  Thermidor,  Year  IV.  (July  22, 1796). 

"  The  wants  of  the  army  require  my  presence  in  these 
parts ;  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  go  so  far  away  as  Milan ; 
it  would  require  for  that  purpose  five  or  six  days,  and  dur- 
ing that  time  circumstances  might  arise  which  would  make 
my  presence  here  absolutely  necessary. 

"  You  assure  me  that  your  health  is  now  good ;  conse- 
quently, I  pray  you  to  come  to  Brescia.  At  this  moment 
I  am  sending  Murat  into  the  city  to  prepare  you  such  a 
house  as  you  wish. 

"  I  believe  that  you  can  very  well  sleep  in  Cassano  on 
the  6th,  if  you  leave  Milan  late,  so  as  to  be  in  Brescia  on 
the  7th,  where  the  most  tender  of  lovers  awaits  you.  I  am 
in  despair  that  you  can  believe,  my  dear  friend,  that  my 
heart  can  be  drawn  toward  any  one  but  yourself ;  it  belongs 
to  you  by  right  of  conquest,  and  will  be  enduring  and  ever- 
lasting.    I  do  not  understand  why  you  speak  of  Madame 

de  Te .     I  trouble  myself  no  more  about  her  than  any 

other  woman  in  Brescia.  Since  it  annoys  you  that  I 
open  your  letters,  the  enclosed  one  will  be  the  last  that  I 


293  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

open ;  your  letter  did  not  reach  me  till  after  I  had  opened 
this. 

"  Farewell,  my  tender  one ;  send  me  often  your  news. 
Break  up  at  once  and  come  to  me,  and  be  happy  without 
disquietude ;  all  is  well,  and  my  heart  belongs  to  you  for 
life. 

"  Be  sure  to  return  to  the  Adjutant  Miollis  the  box  of 
medallions  which,  as  he  writes,  he  has  given  you.  There  are 
80  many  babbling  and  bad  tongues,  that  it  is  necessary  to 
be  always  on  one's  guard. 

"  Health,  love,  and  speedy  arrival  in  Brescia ! 

"  I  have  in  Milan  a  carriage  which  is  suited  for  city  and 
country ;  use  it  on  your  journey.  Bring  your  silver  and  a 
few  necessary  things.  Travel  by  short  stages,  and  during 
the  cool  of  the  morning  and  evening,  so  as  not  to  weary  you 
too  much.  The  troops  need  only  three  days  to  reach  Bres- 
cia, a  distance  of  fourteen  miles.  I  beg  of  you  to  pass  the 
night  of  the  6th  iu  Cassano ;  on  the  7th  I  will  come  to  meet 
you  as  far  as  possible. 

"  Farewell,  my  Josephine ;  a  thousand  tender  kisses  ! 

"  Bonaparte." 

Josephine  gladly  obeyed  the  wishes  of  her  husband,  and 
exactly  on  the  7th  Thermidor  (July  25)  she  entered  Bres- 
cia. Bonaparte  had  ridden  an  hour's  distance  to  meet  her, 
and,  amid  the  shouts  of  the  population,  he  led  her  in  trix 
umph  into  the  house  prepared  for  her  reception. 

Three  days  were  allowed  to  the  general  to  enjoy  his 
happiness  and  Josephine's  presence.  On  the  28th  of  July 
he  received  the  intelligence  that  Wurmser  was  advancing, 
and  that  he  was  in  Marmirolo.  At  once  Bonaparte  broke 
up  from  Brescia,  to  meet  him  and  offer  battle. 

Brescia  was  no  longer  a  dwelling-place  for  Josephine 
now  that  the  enemy  threatened  it ;  she  therefore  accompa- 
nied her  husband,  and  the  effeminate  Creole,  the  tender 


JOSEPHINE  IN  ITALY.  293 

Parisian,  accustomed  to  all  the  comforts  of  life,  the  lady 
surrounded  by  numerous  attendants  in  Milan,  saw  herself  at 
once  obliged,  as  the  true  wife  of  a  soldier,  to  share  with  her 
husband  all  the  hardships,  inconveniences,  and  dangers  of  a 
camp^jign. 

The  news  of  the  advance  of  the  Austrians  became  more 
and  more  precise.  No  sooner  had  Bonaparte  arrived  in 
Peschiera  with  his  Josephine,  than  he  learned  that  Monte- 
valdo  was  attacked  by  the  enemy.  In  great  haste  they  pur- 
sued their  journey ;  the  next  day  they  reached  Verona,  but 
Wurmser  had  been  equally  swift  in  his  movements,  and  on 
the  heights  surrounding  Verona  were  seen  the  light  troops 
of  Austria. 

Even  a  serious  skirmish  at  the  outposts  took  place,  and 
Josephine,  against  her  will,  had  to  be  the  witness  of  this 
horrible,  cannibal  murder,  which  we  are  pleased  to  call  war. 

Bonaparte,  who  had  preceded  his  army,  was  forced  to 
retreat  from  Verona,  and  went  with  Josephine  to  Castel 
Kuovo,  where  the  majority  of  his  troops  were  stationed. 
But  it  was  a  fearful  journey,  beset  with  dangers.  Every- 
where on  the  road  lay  the  dying  and  the  wounded  who  had 
remained  behind  after  the  different  conflicts,  and  who  with 
difficulty  were  crawling  along  to  meet  the  army.  Josephine's 
sensitive  heart  was  painfully  moved  by  the  spectacle  of  these 
sufferings  and  these  bleeding  wounds.  Napoleon  noticed  it 
on  her  pale  cheeks  and  trembling  lips,  and  in  the  tears 
which  stood  in  her  eyes.  Besides  which,  a  great  battle  was 
at  hand,  threatening  her  with  new  horrors.  To  guard  her 
from  them,  Bonaparte  made  another  sacrifice  to  his  love, 
and  resolved  to  part  from  her. 

She  was  to  return  to  Brescia,  while  Napoleon,  with  his 
army,  would  meet  the  foe.  With  a  thousand  assurances  of 
love,  and  the  most  tender  vows,  he  took  leave  of  Josephine, 
and  she  mastered  herself  so  as  to  repress  her  anxiety  and 
timidity,  and  to  appear  collected  and  brave.     With  a  smile 


294  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

on  her  lip  she  bade  him  farewell,  and  began  the  journey, 
accompanied  by  a  few  well-armed  horsemen,  whom  Bona^ 
parte,  in  the  most  stringent  terms,  commanded  not  to  leave 
his  wife's  carriage  for  an  instant,  and  in  case  of  attack  to 
defend  her  with  their  lives. 

At  first  the  journey  was  attended  with  no  danger,  and 
Josephine's  heart  began  to  beat  with  less  anxiety ;  she  al- 
ready believed  herself  in  safety.  Suddenly,  from  a  neigh- 
boring coppice,  there  rushed  out  a  division  of  the  enemy's 
cavalry ;  already  were  distinctly  heard  the  shouts  and  cries 
with  which  they  dashed  toward  the  advancing  carriage.  To 
oppose  this  vast  number  of  assailants  was  not  to  be  thought 
of ;  only  the  most  rapid  flight  could  save  them. 

The  carriage  was  turned ;  the  driver  jumped  upon  the 
horses,  and,  in  a  mad  gallop,  onward  it  sped.  To  the  swift- 
ness of  the  horses  Josephine  owed  her  escape.  She  reached 
headquarters  safely,  and  was  received  by  Bonaparte  with 
loud  demonstrations  of  joy  at  her  unexpected  return. 

But  Josephine  had  not  the  strength  to  conceal  the  anx- 
iety of  her  heart,  her  fears  and  alarms.  These  horrible 
scenes  of  war,  the  sight  of  the  wounded,  the  dangers  she  had 
lately  incurred,  the  fearful  preparations  for  fresh  murders 
and  massacres — all  this  troubled  her  mind  so  violently  that 
she  lost  at  once  all  courage  and  composure.  A  nervous 
trembling  agitated  her  whole  frame,  and,  not  being  able  to 
control  her  agony,  she  broke  into  loud  weeping. 

Bonaparte  embraced  her  tenderly,  and  as  he  kissed  the 
tears  from  her  cheeks,  he  cried  out,  with  a  threatening  flash 
in  his  eyes,  "  Wurmser  will  pay  dearly  for  the  tears  he  has 
caused ! "  * 

It  was,  however,  a  fortunate  accident  that  the  enemy's 
cavalry  had  hindered  Josephine  from  reaching  Brescia.  A 
quarter  of  an  hour  after  her  return  to  headquarters  the 

•Bonaparte's  words. — "Memorial  de  Ste.  Helene,"  vol.  i.,  p.  174. 


JOSEPHINE  IN  ITALY.  295 

news  arrived  that  the  Austrians  had  advanced  into  Brescia. 
Meanwhile  Josephine  had  already  regained  all  her  courage 
and  steadfastness ;  she  declared  herself  ready  to  abide  by  her 
husband,  to  bear  with  him  the  dangers  and  the  fatigues  of 
the  campaign ;  that  she  wished  to  be  with  him,  as  it  be- 
hooved the  wife  of  a  soldier. 

But  Bonaparte  felt  that  her  company  would  cripple  his 
courage  and  embarrass  his  movements.  Josephine  once 
more  had  to  leave  him,  so  that  the  tender  lover  might  not 
disturb  the  keen  commanding  general,  and  that  his  head  and 
not  his  heart  might  decide  the  necessary  measures. 

He  persuaded  Josephine  to  leave  him,  and  to  retire  into 
one  of  the  central  cities  of  Italy.  She  acceded  to  his  wishes, 
and  travelled  away  toward  Florence.  But,  to  reach  that  city, 
it  was  necessary  to  pass  Mantua,  which  the  French  were  in- 
vesting. Her  road  passed  near  the  walls  of  the  besieged  city, 
and  one  of  the  balls,  which  were  whizzing  around  the  car- 
riage, struck  one  of  the  soldiers  of  her  escort  and  wounded 
him  mortally.  It  was  a  dangerous,  fearful  journey — war's 
confusion  everywhere,  wild  shouts,  fleeing,  complaining 
farmers,  constant  cries  of  distress,  anxiety,  and  want. 

But  Josephine  had  armed  her  heart  with  great  courage 
and  resolution ;  she  shrank  from  no  danger,  she  overcame 
it  all ;  she  already  had  an  undaunted  confidence  in  her  hus- 
band's destiny,  and  believed  in  the  star  of  his  prosperity. 

And  this  star  led  her  on  happily  through  all  dangers, 
and  protected  her  throughout  this  reckless  and  daring  jour- 
ney. Through  Bologna  and  Ferrara,  she  came  at  last  to 
Lucca ;  there  to  rest  a  few  days  from  her  hardships  and  anxi- 
eties. There,  in  Lucca,  she  was  to  experience  the  proud 
satisfaction  of  being  witness  of  the  deep  confidence  which 
had  struck  root  in  the  heart  of  the  Italians,  in  reference  to 
the  success  of  the  French  commander-in-chief.  Though  it 
was  well  known  that  Wurmser,  with  a  superior  force,  was 
advancing  against  General  Bonaparte,  and  his  hungry, 
30 


296  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

tattered  troops,  and  that  they  were  on  the  eve  of  a  battle 
which,  according  to  all  appearances,  promised  to  Napoleon 
a  complete  defeat,  and  to  the  Austrians  a  decisive  victory, 
the  town  of  Lucca  was  not  afraid  to  give  to  the  wife  of  Bona- 
parte a  grand  and  public  reception.  The  senate  of  Lucca 
received  her  with  all  the  marks  of  distinction  shown  only  to 
princesses ;  the  senate  came  to  her  in  ofl&cial  ceremony,  and 
brought  her  as  a  gift  of  honor,  in  costly  gold  flasks,  the 
produce  of  their  land,  the  fine  oil  of  Lucca. 

Josephine  received  these  marks  of  honor  with  that  grace 
and  amiability  with  which  she  won  all  hearts,  and,  with  her 
enchanting  smile,  thanking  the  senators,  she  told  them, 
with  all  the  confidence  of  a  lover,  that  her  victorious  hus- 
band would,  for  the  magnificent  hospitality  thus  shown 
her,  manifest  his  gratitude  to  the  town  of  Lucca  by  the 
prosperity  and  liberty  which  he  was  ready  to  conquer  for 
Italy. 

This  confidence  was  shortly  to  be  justified.  No  sooner 
had  Josephine  arrived  in  Florence,  whither  she  had  come 
from  Lucca,  than  the  news  of  the  victory  of  the  French 
army,  commanded  by  her  husband,  reached  there  also. 

Suddenly  abandoning  the  siege  of  Mantua,  Bonaparte 
had  gathered  together  all  his  forces,  and  with  them  he  dealt 
blow  after  blow  upon  the  three  divisions  of  the  army  corps 
of  Wurmser,  until  he  had  completely  defeated  them.  The 
battles  of  Lonato  and  Castiglione  were  the  fresh  trophies  of 
his  fame.  On  the  10th  of  August  Bonaparte  made  his  vic- 
torious entry  into  Brescia,  which  only  twelve  days  before  he 
had  been  suddenly  obliged  to  abandon  with  his  Josephine, 
to  whom  he  had  then  been  barely  reunited,  and  was  still 
luxuriating  in  the  bliss  of  her  presence. 

Bonaparte  had  fulfilled  his  word :  he  had  revenged  Jose- 
phine, and  Wurmser  had  indeed  paid  dearly  for  the  tears 
which  he  had  caused  Josephine  to  shed  ! 

But  after  these  days  of  storm  and  danger,  the  two  lovers 


BONAPARTE  AND  JOSEPHINE  IN  MILAN.         297 

weie  to  enjoy  a  few  weeks  of  mutual  happiness  and  of  splen- 
did triumphs. 

Josephine  had  returned  from  Florence  to  Milan,  and 
thither  Bonaparte  came  also  in  the  middle  of  August,  to 
rest  in  her  arms  after  his  battles  and  victories. 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

BONAPARTE   AND   JOSEPHINE   IN   MILAN. 

The  days  of  armistice  which  Bonaparte  passed  in  Milan 
were  accompanied  by  festivities,  enjoyments,  and  triumphs 
of  all  kinds.  All  Milan  and  Lombardy  streamed  forth  to 
present  their  homage  to  the  deliverer  of  Italy  and  to  his 
charming,  gracious  wife ;  to  give  feasts  in  their  honor,  to 
praise  them  in  enthusiastic  songs,  to  celebrate  their  fame  in 
concerts,  serenades,  and  illuminations. 

The  palace  Serbelloni  served  Italy's  deliverer  once  more 
as  a  residence,  and  it  was  well  calculated  for  this  on  ac- 
count of  its  vastness  and  elegance.  This  was  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  buildings  among  the  palaces  of  Milan.  Over 
its  massive  lower  structure,  and  its  rez-de-chaussee  of  red 
granite,  sparkling  in  the  sun  with  its  play  of  many  colors, 
arose  bold  and  steep  its  light  and  gracetul  facade.  The  in- 
terior of  this  beautiful  palace  of  the  Dukes  of  Serbelloni 
was  adorned  with  all  the  splendors  which  sculpture  and 
painting  gathered  into  the  palaces  of  the  Italian  nobility. 

In  those  halls,  whose  roofs  were  richly  decorated  and 
gilded,  and  supported  by  white  columns  of  marble,  and 
whose  walls  were  covered  with  those  splendid  and  enormous 
mirrors  which  the  republic  of  Venice  alone  then  manufac- 
tured ;  and  from  whose  tall  windows  hung  down  in  long, 
heavy  folds  curtains  of  purple  velvet,   embroidered  with 


298  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

gold,  the  work  of  the  famous  artisans  of  Milan — in  those 
brilliant  halls  the  happy  couple,  Bonaparte  and  Josephine, 
received  the  deputies  of  applauding  Italy  and  the  high  aris- 
tocracy of  all  Lombardy. 

An  eye-witness  thus  describes  a  reception-evening  in  the 
Serbelloni  palace :  "  The  hall  in  which  the  general  received 
his  visitors  was  a  long  gallery  divided  by  marble  columns 
into  three  smaller  rooms  ;  the  two  extreme  divisions  formed 
two  large  drawing-rooms,  perfectly  square,  and  the  middle 
partition  formed  a  long  and  wide  promenade  apartment. 
In  the  drawing-room,  into  which  I  entered,  was  Madame 
Bonaparte,  the  beautiful  Madame  Visconti,  Madame  Leo- 
pold Berthier,  and  Madame  Ivan.  Under  the  arches,  at 
the  entrance  of  the  middle  room,  stood  the  general ;  around 
him,  but  at  a  distance,  the  chiefs  of  the  war  department,  the 
magistrates  of  the  city,  with  a  few  ministers  of  the  Italian 
governments,  all  in  respectful  attitude  before  him.  Nothing 
seemed  to  be  more  striking  than  the  bearing  of  this  little 
man  among  the  dignitaries  overawed  by  his  character.  His 
attitude  had  nothing  of  pride,  but  it  had  the  dignity  of  a 
man  conscious  of  his  worth,  and  who  feels  that  he  is  in  the 
right  place.  Bonaparte  tried  not  to  increase  his  stature,  so 
as  to  be  on  the  same  level  with  those  around  him ;  they  al- 
ready spared  him  that  trouble,  and  bowed  to  him.  None 
of  those  who  conversed  with  him  appeared  taller  than  he. 
Berthier,  Silmaine,  Clarke,  Augereau,  awaited  silently  till 
he  should  address  them,  an  honor  which  this  evening  was 
not  conferred  upon  all.  Never  were  headquarters  so  much 
like  a  court :  they  were  the  prelude  to  the  Tuileries."  * 

To  Milan  came  the  ambassadors  of  princes,  of  the  free 
cities,  and  of  the  Italian  republics.  They  all  claimed  Bona- 
parte's assistance  and  protection;  they  came  bearers  of 
good-will,  of  utterances  of  hope  and  fear,  and  expecting 

*  Arnold,  "  Souvenirs  d'un  Sexagenaire,"  vol.  iiL,  p.  10. 


BONAPARTE  AND  JOSEPHINE  IN  MILAN.         299 

from  him  help  and  succor.  The  princes  trembled  for  their 
thrones ;  the  cities  and  republics  for  their  independence ; 
they  wanted  to  conciliate  by  their^submission  the  general 
whose  sword  could  either  threaten  them  all  or  give  them 
ample  protection.  Bonaparte  received  this  homage  with 
the  composure  of  a  protector,  and  sometimes  also  with  the 
proud  reserve  of  a  conqueror. 

He  granted  to  the  Duke  of  Parma  the  protection  which 
he  had  sought,  and  permitted  him  to  remain  on  his  terri- 
tory as  prince  and  ruler,  though  the  strongest  expostulations 
had  been  made  to  Bonaparte  on  that  point. 

"  He  is  a  Bourbon,"  they  said ;  "  he  must  no  longer 
rule." 

"  He  is  an  unfortunate  man,"  replied  Bonaparte,  proud- 
ly ;  "  it  is  not  worth  while  to  attack  him.  If  we  leave  him 
on  his  lands,  he  will  rule  only  in  our  name ;  if  we  drive  him 
away,  he  will  be  weaving  intrigues  everywhere.  Let  him 
remain  where  he  is,  I  wish  him  no  wrong ;  his  presence  can 
be  useful,  his  absence  would  surely  be  hurtful." 

"  But  he  is  a  Bourbon,  citizen  general,  a  Bourbon ! "  ex- 
claimed Augereau,  with  animation. 

Bonaparte's  countenance  darkened,  and  his  brow  was 
overspread  with  frowns.  "Well,  then,"  cried  he,  with 
threatening  tone,  "  he  is  a  Bourbon !  Is  he  therefore  by 
nature  of  so  despicable  a  family  ?  Because  three  Bourbons 
have  been  killed  in  France,  must  we  therefore  hunt  down 
all  the  others?  I  cannot  approve  of  proscriptions  which 
thus  fall  upon  a  whole  family,  a  whole  class  of  people.  An 
absurd  law  has  prohibited  all  the  nobles  from  serving  the 
republic,  and  yet  Barras  is  in  the  Directory,  and  I  am  at  the 
head  of  the  army  in  Italy.  We  are  consequently  liable  to 
punishment  in  virtue  of  your  absurd  and  cruel  system.' 
Hunt  down  those  who  do  wrong,  but  not  masses  who  are 
innocent.  Can  you  punish  Paris  and  France  for  the  crimes 
of  the  sansi-culoties  f    The  Bourbons  are,  it  is  said,  the  ene- 


800  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

mies  of  freedom ;  they  have  been  led  to  the  scaffold  under 
the  action  of  a  right  which  I  do  not  acknowledge.  The 
Duke  of  Parma  is  weak,  and  a  poltroon, — he  will  not  stir. 
His  people  seem  to  love  him,  for  we  are  here,  and  they  rise 
not,  they  utter  no  complaint.  Let  him,  then,  continue  to 
rule  as  long  as  he  pays  all  that  I  exact  from  him."  * 

Thanks  to  the  good- will  and  protection  of  the  republican 
general,  the  Duke  of  Parma  remained  on  his  little  throne — 
on  the  same  throne  which  was  one  day  to  be  to  Napoleon's 
second  wife  a  compensation  for  her  lost  imperial  crown. 
The  Empress  of  France  was  to  become  a  Duchess  of  Parma ; 
and  now  to  her  husband,  the  present  general  of  the  republic, 
the  actual  Duke  of  Parma  was  indebted  that  his  little  duke- 
dom was  not  converted  into  a  republic. 

It  is  true  that  the  duke  had  to  pay  dearly  for  the  pro- 
tection which  Bonaparte  granted.  He  had  to  pay  a  war- 
Bubsidy  of  two  million  francs,  and,  besides,  give  from  his 
collection  his  most  beautiful  painting,  that  of  St.  Jerome  by 
Correggio,  for  the  Museum  of  the  Louvre  in  Paris.f  The 
duke,  as  a  lover  of  art,  was  more  distressed  at  the  loss  of 
this  picture  than  at  the  enormous  contribution  he  had  to 
pay ;  for  he  soon  caused  the  proposition  to  be  made  to  Gen- 
eral Bonaparte,  to  redeem  from  the  French  government  that 
painting,  for  the  sum  of  two  hundred  thousand  francs,  a 
proposition  which  Bonaparte,  without  any  further  consulta- 
tion with  the  authorities  in  Paris,  rejected  with  some  de- 
gree of  irritation. 

The  Duke  of  Parma  remained  therefore  the  sovereign  of 
his  duchy,  because  it  so  pleased  Bonaparte  ;  but  Bonaparte 
was  led  into  error  when  he  thought  that,  as  his  people 
rebelled  not,  they  therefore  loved  their  duke,  and  were 
satisfied  with  him.    The  women  and  the  priests  controlled 

*  Napoleon's  words. — See  Hazlitt,  "  Histoire  de  Napoleon,"  vol.  r., 
f  This  splendid  picture  Is  now  in  the  Vatican  at  Rome. 


BONAPARTE  AND  JOSEPHINE  IN  MILAN.         301 

entirely  the  feeble  duke ;  and  not  only  the  people,  but  the 
better  classes  and  the  aristocracy,  submitted  to  all  this  with 
great  unwillingness.  Once,  when  Joseph  Bonaparte,  whom 
the  French  republic  had  sent  to  give  assurance  of  protec- 
tion and  recognition  to  the  little  Duke  of  Parma,  was  walk- 
ing with  a  few  cavaliers  in  the  gardens  around  the  duke's 
palace  in  Colorno,  he  expressed  his  admiration  at  the  sym- 
metry and  beauty  of  the  buildings. 

"  That  is  true,"  was  the  answer,  "  but  just  look  at  the 
buildings  of  the  neighboring  cloister  !  do  you  not  see  how 
superior  that  dwelling  is  to  that  of  the  sovereign  ?  Wretched 
is  the  country  where  this  can  take  place ! "  * 

Even  the  representatives  of  the  republic  of  Venice  came 
to  Bonaparte.  They  came  not  only  to  secure  his  friendship, 
but  also  to  complain  that  the  French  army,  in  its  advance 
upon  Brescia,  had  done  injury  to  the  neutral  territory  of 
Venice. 

Bonaparte  directed  at  them  a  look  of  imperious  severity, 
and,  instead  of  laying  stt-ess  on  their  neutrality,  he  asked  in 
a  sharp  tone,  "  Are  you  for  us,  or  against  us  ?  " 

"  Signer,  we  are  neutral,  and — " 

"  Do  not  be  neutral,"  interrupted  Bonaparte,  with  vehe- 
mence, "be  strong,  otherwise  your  friendship  is  useful  to 
none." 

And,  with  imperious  tone,  he  reproached  them  for  the 
vacillating,  perfidious  conduct  which,  since  1792,  had  been 
the  policy  of  Venice,  and  he  threatened  to  punish  and  de- 
stroy that  republic  if  she  did  not  immediately  prove  herself 
to  be  the  loyal  friend  of  the  French. 

While  Bonaparte  used  the  few  short  weeks  of  rest  to 
bring  Italy  more  and  more  under  the  yoke  of  France,  it  was 
Josephine's  privilege  to  draw  to  herself  and  toward  her  hus- 
band the  minds  of  the  Italians,  to  win  their  hearts  to  her 

*  "  Memoires  du  Roi  Joseph,"  vol.  i.,  p.  65. 


302  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

husband,  and  through  him  to  the  French  republic,  which 
he  represented.  She  did  this  with  all  the  grace  and  affa- 
bility, all  the  genial  tact  and  large-heartedness  of  a  noble 
heart,  which  were  the  attributes  of  her  beautiful  and  amia- 
ble person.  She  was  unwearied  in  well-doing,  in  listening  to 
all  the  petitions  with  which  she  was  approached ;  she  had 
for  every  complaint  and  every  request  an  open  ear;  she 
not  only  promised  to  every  applicant  her  intercession,  but 
she  made  him  presents,  and  was  ever  ready,  by  solicitations, 
flatteries,  and  expostulations,  and,  if  necessary,  even  with 
tears,  to  entreat  from  her  husband  a  mitigation  of  the 
punishment  and  sentence  which  he  had  decided  upon  in 
his  just  severity ;  and  seldom  had  Bonaparte  the  courage  to 
oppose  her  wishes.  These  were  for  Josephine  glorious  days 
of  love  and  triumph.  She  depicts  them  herself  in  a  letter 
to  her  aunt  in  plain,  short  words.    ' 

"  The  Duke  de  Serbelloni,"  writes  she,  "  will  tell  you, 
my  dear  aunt,  how  I  have  been  received  in  Italy;  how, 
wherever  I  passed,  they  celebrated  my  arrival ;  how  all  the 
Italian  princes,  even  the  Duke  of  Tuscany,  the  emperor's 
brother,  gave  festivities  in  my  honor.  Well,  then,  I  would 
prefer  to  live  as  a  plain  citizeness  of  France.  I  like  not  the 
honorable  distinctions  of  this  country.  They  weary  me. 
It  is  true,  my  health  inclines  me  to  be  sad.  I  often  feel 
very  ill.  If  fate  would  bring  me  good  health,  then  I  should 
be  entirely  happy.  I  possess  the  most  amiable  husband 
that  can  be  found.  I  have  no  occasion  to  desire  anything. 
My  wishes  are  his.  The  whole  day  he  is  worshipping  me  as 
if  I  were  a  deity  ;  it  is  impossible  to  find  a  better  husband. 
He  writes  often  to  my  children — he  loves  them  much.  He 
sent  to  Hortense,  through  M.  Serbelloni,  a  beautiful  enam- 
elled repeating  watch,  ornamented  with  fine  pearls ;  to 
Eugene  he  sent  also  a  fine  gold  watch."  * 

•  Aubenas,  "  Histoire  de  I'lmperatrice  Josephine,"  voL  i.,  p.  349. 


BONAPARTE  AND  JOSEPHINE  IN  MILAN.         303 

But  soon  these  days  of  quietness  and  happiness  were  to 
be  broken ;  the  armistice  was  drawing  to  a  close,  when,  with 
redoubled  energy,  Bonaparte,  who  had  received  from  the 
government  the  wislied-for  re-enforcements,  longed  to  re- 
sume the  war  with  Austria,  which  on  her  side  had  sent  an- 
other army  into  Italy,  under  General  Alvinzi,  to  relieve 
Mantua,  and  to  deliver  Wurmser  from  his  peril: 

On  the  13th  of  August  Bonaparte  left  Milan  and  re- 
turned to  Brescia,  where  he  established  his  headquarters, 
and  where,  with  all  the  speed  and  restlessness  of  a  warrior 
longing  for  victory,  he  made  his  preparations  for  the  com- 
ing conflict. 

But  amid  the  anxieties,  the  cares,  the  chances  of  this 
new  campaign,  his  heart  remained  behind  in  Milan  with 
his  Josephine ;  when  the  general  began  to  rest,  the  lover 
began  to  breathe.  No  sooner  were  the  battle-plans,  the 
fight,  the  preparations  and  the  dispositions  accomplished, 
than  all  his  thoughts  returned  to  Josephine,  and  he  had 
again  recourse  to  his  written  correspondence  with  his  adored 
wife;  for  although  he  longed  so  much  to  have  her  with 
him,  yet  he  was  unwilling  to  occasion  her  so  much  incon- 
venience and  so  many  privations. 

Bonaparte's  letters  are  again  way-marks  during  his 
glorious  path  of  victory  and  triumph,  while  he  was  over- 
running Italy  with  wondrous  rapidity — but,  instead  of  re- 
lating these  conquests,  we  turn  to  his  letters  to  Josephine. 
Already,  on  his  way  to  Brescia,  he  had  written  her  several 
times.  The  very  day  after  reaching  there,  after  having 
made  the  necessary  military  arrangements,  Bonaparte  wrote 
to  her: 

"  Brescia,  <Ae  Uth  Fructidor,  Year  IV.  (August  31, 1795). 
"  I  am  leaving  for  Yerona.     I  have  hoped  in  vain  to 
receive  a  letter  from  you ;  this  makes  me  wretched  and 
restless.    At  the  time  of  my  departure,  you  were  somewhat 


304  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Buffering ;  I  pray  you,  do  not  leave  me  in  such  a  state  of 
disquietude.  You  had  promised  me  a  gi*eater  punctuality ; 
your  tongue,  then,  chimed  in  with  your  heart  .  .  .  . ;  you, 
whom  Nature  has  gifted  with  a  sweet  disposition,  with  joy- 
ousness,  and  every  thing  which  is  agreeable,  how  can  you 
forget  him  who  loves  you  so  warmly  ?  Three  days  without 
a  letter  from  you !  I  have  during  that  time  written  to  you 
several.  Separation  is  horrible ;  the  nights  are  long,  tire- 
some, and  insipid ;  the  days  are  monotonous. 

"  To-day,  alone  with  thoughts,  works,  men,  and  their 
destructive  schemes,  I  have  not  received  from  you  a  single 
note  that  I  can  press  to  my  heart. 

"  Headquarters  are  broken  up ;  I  leave  in  one  hour.  I 
have  this  night  received  expresses  from  Paris ;  there  was 
nothing  for  you  but  the  enclosed  letter,  which  will  afford 
you  some  pleasure. 

"  Think  on  me ;  live  for  me ;  be  often  with  your  beloved, 
and  believe  that  there  is  for  him  but  one  sorrow ;  that  he 
shrinks  only  from  this — to  be  no  more  loved  by  his  Jose- 
phine. A  thousand  right  sweet  kisses,  right  tender,  right 
exclusive  kisses.  Bonaparte." 

Three  days  after  he  tells  her  that  he  is  now  in  the  midst 
of  war  operations ;  that  hostilities  have  begun  again,  and 
that  he  hopes  in  a  few  days  to  advance  upon  Trieste.  But 
this  occupied  his  mind  less  than  his  solicitude  for  Jose- 
phine. After  a  short  paragraph  on  his  military  affairs,  he 
continues : 

"  No  letter  from  you  yet ;  I  am  really  anxious ;  but  I 
am  assured  that  you  are  well,  and  that  you  have  made  an 
excursion  on  the  Como  Lake.  Every  day  I  wait  impatiently 
for  the  courier  who  is  to  bring  me  news  from  you ;  you 
know  how  precious  this  is  to  me.  I  live  no  longer  when 
away  from  you  ;  the  joy  of  my  life  is  to  be  near  my  sweet 


BONAPARTE  AND  JOSEPHINE  IN  MILAN.         305 

Josephine.  Think  of  me ;  write  often,  very  often ;  this  is 
the  only  remedy  for  separation ;  it  is  cruel,  but  I  trust  it 
will  soon  be  over.  Bonaparte." 

Meanwhile  this  separation  was  to  last  longer  than  Bona- 
parte had  imagined.  War  held  him  entangled  in  its  web  so 
fast,  that  he  had  not  time  even  to  write  to  Josephine.  In 
the  next  two  letters  he  could  only  tell  her,  in  a  few  lines, 
what  had  happened  at  the  theatre  of  war ;  that  he  had  again 
defeated  Wurmser,  and  had  surrounded  him,  and  that  he 
hopes  to  take  Mantua.  Even  for  his  constant  complaint 
about  Josephine's  slothf  ulness  in  writing,  he  finds  no  room 
in  these  short  letters.  In  the  next  letter,  however,  it  ap- 
pears the  more  violently.  He  has  no  time  to  give  her,  as 
was  his  usual  practice,  any  account  of  the  war.  He  begins 
at  once  with  the  main  object,  which  is — "  Josephine  has  not 

written  : " 

"  Veeona,  1st  day  of  CompUmentaires  in  Year  V. 
"  {September  17,  1796). 

"  I  write  to  you  often,  my  beloved  one,  but  you  write 
seldom  to  me.  You  are  wicked  and  hateful,  very  hateful — 
as  hateful  as  you  are  inconstant.  It  is  indeed  faithlessness 
to  deceive  a  wretched  man,  a  tender  lover  !  Must  he  lose 
his  rights  because  he  is  away,  burdened  with  hardship  and 
labor?  Without  his  Josephine,  without  the  certainty  of 
her  love,  what  is  there  on  earth  for  him  ?  What  would  he 
do  here  ? 

"  We  had  yesterday  a  very  bloody  affair ;  the  enemy  has 
lost  many  men,  and  is  well  beaten.  We  have  taken  his  ad- 
vanced works  before  Mantua. 

"  Farewell,  adored  Josephine  !  One  of  these  nights  the 
doors  will  open  with  a  loud  crash :  as  a  jealous  man,  I  am 
in  your  arms ! 

"A  thousand  dear  kisses  !  Bonaparte." 

But  the  doors  were  not  to  be  opened  on  any  of  the  fo\- 


306  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

lowing  nights  for  the  jealous  one  !  The  events  of  war  were 
to  keep  him  away  a  long  time  from  his  Josephine.  The 
Austrian  Generals  Wurmser  and  Alvinzi,  with  their  two 
armies,  demanded  all  the  energy  and  activity  of  Bonaparte. 
Meanwhile,  as  he  was  preparing  for  the  great  battles  which 
were  to  decide  the  fate  of  Italy,  his  thoughts  were  always 
turned  to  his  Josephine  ;  his  deep  longings  grew  day  by  day, 
still  he  had  no  longer  cause  to  complain  that  Josephine  did 
not  write,  that  she  had  forgotten  him !  Contrariwise,  Jose- 
phine did  write ;  she  had,  while  he  was  writing  her  angry 
letters  about  her  silence,  written  several  times,  for  Bona- 
parte in  the  following  letter  says  that  he  has  received  many 
letters  from  her,  which,  probably  on  account  of  the  diflBcul- 
ties  of  communication,  had  been  delayed.  He  had  received 
them  with  the  highest  delight,  and  pressed  them  to  his  lips 
and  heart.  But  no  sooner  had  he  rejoiced  over  them,  than 
he  complains  that  they  are  cold,  reserved,  and  old.  No 
word,  no  expression,  satisfies  his  ardent  love.  He  complains 
that  her  letters  are  cold,  and  then,  when  she  dips  her  pen  in 
the  fire  of  tender  love,  he  complains  again  that  her  glowing 
letters  "  turn  his  blood  into  fire,  and  stir  up  his  whole  be- 
ing." Love,  with  all  its  wantonness  and  all  its  pains,  holds 
him  captive  in  its  hands,  and  the  general  has  no  means  of 
appeasing  the  lover. 

The  letter  which  complains  of  Josephine's  coldness  is 
dated 

"  MoDKNA,  26ih  VendSmiaire  of  the  Year  V. 
"(October  17,  1796). 

"  I  was  yesterday  the  whole  day  on  the  field.  To-day  I 
have  kept  my  bed.  Fever  and  a  violent  headache  have  de- 
barred me  from  writing  to  my  adored  one ;  but  I  have  re- 
ceived her  letters,  I  pressed  them  to  my  lips  and  to  my 
heart,  and  the  anguish  of  a  separation  of  hundreds  of  miles 
disappeared.  At  this  moment  I  see  you  at  my  side,  neither 
capricious  nor  angry,  but  soft,  tender,  and  wrapped  in  that 


BONAPARTE  AND  JOSEPHINE  IN  MILAN.         307 

goodness  which  is  exclusively  the  attribute  of  my  Josephine. 
It  was  a  dream. — judge  if  it  could  drive  the  fever  away. 
Your  letters  are  as  cold  as  if  you  were  fifty  years  old ;  they 
seem  to  have  been  composed  after  a  marriage  of  fifteen 
years.  One  can  see  in  them  the  friendship  and  sentiments 
of  the  winter  of  life.  Pshaw !  Josephine,  .  .  .  that  is 
very  naughty,  very  abominable,  very  treasonable  on  your 
part.  What  more  remains  to  make  me  worthy  of  pity? 
All  is  already  done  !  To  love  me  no  more  !  To  hate  me  ! 
Well,  then,  let  it  be  so  !  Every  thing  humiliates  but  hatred, 
and  indifference  with  its  marmoreal  pulse,  its  staring  eyes, 
and  its  measured  steps.  A  thousand  thousand  kisses  as  ten- 
der as  my  heart !  I  am  somewhat  better.  I  leave  to-mor- 
row. The  English  are  cruising  on  the  Mediterranean. 
Corsica  is  ours.     Good  news  for  France  and  for  the  army. 

"  Bonaparte." 

Bonaparte  had  gone  to  wage  the  last  decisive  battle. 
He  writes  to  her  from  Verona  a  few  lines  that  he  has  ar- 
rived there,  and  that  he  is  just  going  to  mount  his  horse  to 
pursue  the  march.  In  this  letter,  however,  he  does  not  tell 
Josephine  that  General  Vaubois,  with  his  fugitive  regiments, 
has  been  beaten  by  the  Tyrolese,  and  that,  driven  from  their 
mountains,  he  has  arrived  in  Verona ;  that  Alvinzi  occupies 
the  Tyrol  and  has  pushed  on  to  Brenta  and  to  Etsch.  Bo- 
naparte was  gathering  his  troops  to  drive  away  General  Al- 
vinzi, who  had  occupied  the  heights  of  Caldiero,  from  these 
important  positions,  and  to  take  possession  of  them  by  main 
force.  A  violent  and  desperate  struggle  ensued,  and  the 
day  ended  with  victory  on  the  side  of  the  Austrians.  Bona- 
parte had  to  return  to  Verona ;  Alvinzi  maintained  himself 
on  the  heights. 

To  the  irritated  general,  disappointed  in  his  plans  and 
humiliated,  his  love  becomes  his  "  Mte  de  souffrance^''  upon 
which  he  takes  vengeance  for  the  defeat  of  Caldiero.     Jose- 


308  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

phine  has  to  endure  the  flaming  wrath  of  Bonaparte,  in 
whom  now  general  and  lover  are  fused  into  one ;  but  in  hia 
expressions  of  auger  the  general  has  no  complaints — it  is 
the  lover  who  murmurs,  who  reprimands,  and  is  irritated. 

On  the  evening  of  the  12th  November,  the  day  of  the 
defeat  of  Caldiero,  Bonaparte  returned  to  Verona.  The 
next  day  he  wrote  to  Josephine  : 

"  Veeona,  the  Sd  Fritnaire,  Fear  V.  (November  IS,  1796). 

"  I  love  you  no  more ;  on  the  contrary,  I  hate  you.  You 
are  a  wicked  creature,  very  inconsistent,  very  stupid,  very 
silly.  You  do  not  write  to  me.  You  do  not  love  your  hus- 
band. You  know  how  much  pleasure  your  letters  would 
afford,  and  you  do  not  write  to  him  even  six  lines,  which 
you  can  readily  scribble  out. 

"  How,  then,  do  you  begin  the  day,  madame  ?  What 
important  occupation  takes  away  your  time  from  writing  to 
your  very  excellent  lover?  What  new  inclination  chokes 
and  thrusts  aside  the  tender,  abiding  love  which  you  have 
promised  him  ?  What  can  this  wonderful,  this  new  love  be, 
which  lays  claim  to  all  your  time,  and  rules  over  your  days, 
and  hinders  you  from  occupying  yourself  with  your  hus- 
band? Josephine,  be  on  your  guard;  on  some  evil  night 
the  doors  will  be  burst  open  and  I  shall  stand  before  you  ! 

"  In  truth,  I  am  restless,  my  dear  one,  because  I  receive 
no  news  from  you.  Write  me  at  once  four  pages  about 
those  things,  which  fill  my  heart  with  emotion  and  pleasure. 

"  I  trust  soon  to  fold  you  in  my  arms,  and  then  I  will 
overwhelm  you  with  a  million  of  kisses  burning  like  the 
equator.  Bonapaete." 

Whilst  Bonaparte  was  pursuing  and  engaging  with 
Wurmser  and  Alvinzi  in  bloody  hostilities,  and  writing  to 
Josephine  tender  and  angry  letters  of  a  lover  ever  jealous, 
ever  dissatisfied  and  envious,  Josephine  was  leading  in  Milan 


BONAPARTE  AND  JOSEPHINE  IN  MILAN.         309 

a  life  full  of  pleasure  and  amusement,  full  of  splendor  and 
triumphs,  of  receptions  and  festivities.  Every  new  victory, 
every  onward  movement,  was  for  the  inhabitants  of  Milan, 
and  her  proud  and  rich  nobles,  a  fresh  and  welcome  occa- 
sion to  celebrate  and  glorify  the  wife  of  General  Bonaparte, 
and,  through  her,  the  hero  who  was  to  take  away  from  their 
necks  the  yoke  of  the  Austrian,  and  who  suspected  not  that 
he  was  so  soon  to  place  upon  them  another  yoke. 

Josephine,  true  to  the  wishes  and  commands  of  Bona- 
parte, accepted  these  festivities  and  this  homage  with  all  the 
affability  and  grace  which  distinguished  her.  She  had  by 
degrees  become  familiar  with  this  ceaseless  homage,  which 
at  first  seemed  so  wearisome ;  by  degrees  she  took  delight  in 
this  life  of  pleasure,  in  the  incense  of  adulation,  and  the 
brilliancies  of  fame.  All  the  indolence,  the  dreamy  care- 
lessness, the  graceful  abandonment  of  the  Creole  had  been 
again  awakened  in  her.  She  cradled  herself  playfully  on  the 
lulling,  bright  waves  of  pleasure  as  an  insect  with  golden 
wings,  and  she  smiled  complacently  at  the  stream  of  encir- 
cling festivities. 

Bonaparte  had  told  her  to  use  all  the  arts  of  a  woman  to 
bind  the  Milanese  and  the  Lombards  to  herself  and  to  her 
husband.  With  her  smiles  she  was  to  continue  the  conquest 
begun  by  Bonaparte's  sword. 

She  could  not,  therefore,  live  alone  in  quiet  solitude ; 
she  could  not  remain  in  obscurity  while  her  husband  was 
performing  his  part  on  the  theatre  of  war ;  she  could  not, 
by  an  appearance  of  gravity,  or  by  a  clouded  brow,  furnish 
occasion  to  the  suspicion  that  there  existed  doubt  in  the  fu- 
ture success  of  her  husband,  or  in  his  prosperity  and  victory. 

Roses  were  to  crown  her  brow — a  cheerful  smile  was  to 
beam  on  her  countenance ;  with  joyous  spirit,  she  was  to 
take  part  in  the  festivities  and  pleasures — that  the  Milanese 
might  see  with  what  earnest  confidence  she  believed  in  Na- 
poleon's star !     But  Bonaparte,  with  all  the  instinct  of  a 


810  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

genuine  lover,  had  read  the  deepest  secret  of  her  soul ;  he 
was  enyious  and  jealous,  because  he  felt  that  Josephine  did 
not  belong  to  him  with  her  whole  heart,  her  whole  being, 
all  her  emotions  and  thoughts.  Her  heart,  which  had  re- 
ceived from  the  past  so  many  scars  and  wounds,  could  not 
yet  have  blossomed  anew ;  it  had  been  warmed  by  the  glow 
of  Bonaparte's  love,  but  it  was  not  yet  thoroughly  penetrated 
with  that  passion  which  Bonaparte  so  painfully  missed,  so 
intensely  craved. 

The  earnest,  unfettered  nature  of  his  love  intimidated 
her,  while  it  ravished  and  flattered  her  vanity;  but  her 
heart  was  not  entirely  his,  it  had  yet  room  for  her  children, 
for  her  friends,  for  the  things  of  this  world ! 

Josephine  loved  Bonaparte  with  that  soft,  modest,  and 
retiring  affection,  which  only  by  degrees — by  the  storms  of 
anguish,  jealousy,  agony,  and  the  possibility  of  losing  him 
— was  to  be  fanned  into  that  vitality  and  glow  which  never 
cooled  again  in  her  heart,  and  which  at  last  gave  her  the 
death-stroke. 

She  therefore  thought  she  was  fulfilling  her  task  when 
she,  while  Bonaparte  was  fighting  with  weapons,  conquered 
with  smiles,  and  received  the  homage  of  the  conquered  only 
as  a  tribute  which  they  brought  through  her  to  the  warlike 
genius  of  her  husband. 

Meanwhile  Bonaparte  had  taken  vengeance  for  his  de- 
feat at  Caldiero.  Through  a  ruse  of  war,  he  had  decoyed 
Alvinzi  from  his  safe  and  impregnable  position  into  one 
where  he  could  meet  him  with  his  army  anxious  for  the 
fray,  and  give  him  battle. 

The  gigantic  struggle  lasted  three  days — and  the  close 
of  the  third  day  brought  to  the  conqueror,  Bonaparte, 
the  laurel-wreath  of  undying  glory,  which,  more  enduring 
and  dazzling  than  an  imperial  crown,  surrounded  with 
a  halo  the  hero's  brow  long  after  that  crown  had  fallen 
from  it. 


BONAPARTE  AND  JOSEPHINE  IN  MILAN..        311 

This  was  the  victory  of  Areola,  which  Bonaparte  himself 
decided  by  snatching  from  the  jflag-bearer  the  standard  of 
the  retreating  regiment,  and  rushing  with  it,  through  a 
shower  of  balls,  over  the  bridge  of  death  and  destruction, 
and,  with  a  voice  heard  above  the  thundering  cannon,  shout- 
ing jubilant  to  his  soldiers — "  En  avant,  mes  amis  !  "  And 
bravely  the  soldiers  followed  him — a  brilliant  victory  was 
the  result. 

Elevated  by  this  deed,  the  grandest  and  most  glorious  of 
his  heroic  career,  Napoleon  returned  to  Verona  on  the  19th 
November.  The  whole  city — all  Lombardy — sang  to  his 
praise  their  inspired  hymns,  and  greeted  with  enthusiasm 
the  conqueror  of  Areola.  He,  however,  wanted  a  sweeter 
reward ;  and,  after  obtaining  a  second  victory,  on  the  23d  of 
November,  by  defeating  Wurmser  near  Mantua,  he  longed 
to  rest  and  enjoy  an  hour's  happiness  in  the  arms  of  his 
Josephine. 

From  Verona  he  wrote  to  her  on  the  day  after  the  bat- 
tle of  Mantua,  on  the  24th  of  November : 

"  I  hope  soon  to  be  in  your  arms,  my  beloved  one ;  I 
love  you  to  madness !  I  write  by  this  courier  for  Paris. 
All  is  well.  Wurmser  was  defeated  yesterday  under  Man- 
tua. Your  husband  needs  nothing  but  the  love  of  his  Jose- 
phine to  be  happy.  Bonaparte." 

But  the  most  terrible  doubts  hung  yet  over  this  love. 
The  letter  in  which  Napoleon  announced  his  coming  had 
not  reached  Josephine ;  and,  as  the  next  day  he  came  to 
Milan  with  all  the  cravings  and  impatience  of  a  lover,  he 
did  not  find  Josephine  there. 

She  had  not  suspected  his  coming ;  she  had  not  dreamed 

that  the  commanding  officer  could  stop  in  his  victorious 

course  and  give  way  to  the  lover.     She  thought  him  far 

away ;  and,  ever  faithful  to  Bonaparte's  direction  to  assist 

21 


S12  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

him  in  the  conquest  of  Italy,  she  had  accepted  an  invitation 
from  the  city  of  Genoa,  which  had  lately  and  gladly  entered 
into  alliance  with  France.  The  most  brilliant  festivities 
welcomed  her  in  this  city  of  wealth  and  palaces,  and  "  Oe- 
nova  la  superba "  gathered  all  its  magnificence,  all  the 
splendor  of  its  glory,  to  offer,  under  the  eyes  of  all  Europe, 
her  solemn  homage  to  the  wife  of  the  celebrated  hero  of 
Areola. 

While  Josephine,  with  joyous  pride  was  receiving  this 
homage,  Bonaparte,  gloomy  and  murmuring,  sat  in  his  cabi- 
net at  Milan,  and  wrote  to  her : 

"  Milan,  the  7th  Frimaire,  Tear  V., 
"  Three  o'clock,  afternoon  (November  27, 1796). 

"  I  have  just  arrived  in  Milan,  and  rush  to  your  apart- 
ments. I  have  left  every  thing  to  see  you,  to  press  you  in 
my  arms ;  .  .  .  .  you  are  not  there !  You  are  pursuing  a 
circle  of  festivities  through  the  cities.  You  go  away  from 
me  at  my  approach ;  you  trouble  yourself  no  more  about 
your  dear  Napoleon.  A  spleen  has  made  you  love  him ;  in- 
constancy renders  you  indifferent. 

"  Accustomed  to  dangers,  I  know  a  remedy  against  ennui 
and  the  troubles  of  life.  The  wretchedness  I  endure  is  not 
to  be  measured ;  I  am  entitled  not  to  expect  it. 

"  I  will  wait  here  until  the  9th.  Do  not  trouble  your- 
self. Pursue  your  pleasures;  happiness  is  made  for  you. 
The  whole  world  is  too  happy  when  it  can  please  you,  and 
your  husband  alone  is  very,  very  unhappy. 

"  BONAPAETB.** 

But  this  cry  of  anguish  from  this  crushed  heart  did  not 
reach  Josephine ;  and  the  courier,  who  next  day  came  to 
Milan  from  Genoa,  brought  from  Josephine  only  a  letter 
with  numerous  commissions  for  Berthier.  Bonaparte's  an- 
ger and  sorrow  knew  no  bounds,  and  he  at  once  writes  to 


BONAPARTE  AND  JOSEPHINE   IN  MILAN.         313 

Her  with  all  the  utterances  of  despair  and  complaint  of  a 
lover,  and  the  proud  wrath  of  an  injured  husband : 

"  Milan,  the  8th  Frimaire,  Year  V.,  eight  o'clock,  evening. 

"  The  courier  whom  Berthier  had  sent  to  Milan  has  just 
Arrived.  You  have  had  no  time  to  write  to  me ;  that  I  can 
understand  very  well.  In  the  midst  of  pleasures  aud  amuse- 
ments it  would  have  been  too  much  for  you  to  make  the 
smallest  sacrifice  for  me.  Berthier  has  shown  me  the  letter 
you  wrote  to  him.  It  is  not  my  purpose  to  trouble  you  in 
your  arrangements  or  in  the  festivities  which  you  are  enjoy- 
ing; I  am  not  worth  the  trouble;  the  happiness  or  the 
misery  of  a  man  you  love  no  longer  has  not  the  right  to  in- 
terest you. 

"  As  regards  myself,  to  love  you  and  you  alone,  to  make 
you  happy,  to  do  nothing  that  can  wrong  you  in  any  way,  is 
the  desire  and  object  of  my  life. 

"  Be  happy,  have  nothing  to  reproach  me,  trouble  not 
yourself  about  the  felicity  of  a  man  who  only  breathes  in 
your  life,  who  finds  enjoyment  only  in  your  happiness. 
When  I  claim  from  you  a  love  which  would  approach  mine, 
I  am  wrong :  how  can  one  expect  that  a  cobweb  should 
weigh  as  much  as  gold?  When  I  sacrifice  to  you  all  my 
wishes,  all  my  thoughts,  all  the  moments  of  my  life,  I  merely 
obey  the  spell  which  your  charms,  your  character,  your  whole 
person,  exercise  over  my  wretched  heart.  I  am  wrong,  for 
Nature  has  not  endowed  me  with  the  power  of  binding  you 
to  me ;  but  I  deserve  from  Josephine  in  return  at  least  con- 
sideration and  esteem,  for  I  love  her  unto  madness,  and  love 
her  exclusively. 

"  Farewell,  adorable  wife !  farewell,  my  Josephine !  May 
fate  pour  into  my  heart  every  trouble  and  every  sorrow ;  but 
may  it  send  to  my  Josephine  serene  and  happy  days !  Who 
deserves  it  more  than  she  ?  When  it  is  well  understood  that 
she  loves  me  no  more,  I  will  garner  up  into  my  heart  my 


314  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINK 

deep  anguish,  and  be  content  to  be  in  many  things  at  least 
useful  and  good  to  her. 

"  I  open  this  letter  once  more  to  send  you  a  kiss  .... 
ah!  Josephine  ....  Josephine!  Bonaparte." 

Meanwhile  it  was  not  yet  well  understood  that  Jose- 
phine loved  him  no  more ;  for  as  soon  as  she  knew  of 
Bonaparte's  presence  in  Milan,  she  hastened  to  dispatch 
him  a  courier,  and  to  apprise  him  of  her  sudden  depar- 
ture. 

Bonaparte  did  not  leave  Milan  on  the  9th ;  he  remained 
there,  waiting  for  Josephine,  to  lift  her  up  in  his  arms  from 
her  carriage,  and  to  bear  her  into  her  apartments ;  to  enjoy 
with  her  a  few  happy  days  of  a  quiet,  domestic,  and  mutual 
love,  all  to  themselves. 

His  presence  with  the  army,  however,  soon  became  a 
matter  of  necessity ;  for  Alvinzi  was  advancing  with  con- 
siderable re-enforcements,  with  two  army  corps  to  the  relief 
of  Mantua,  and  Bonaparte,  notwithstanding  his  pressing 
remonstrances  to  the  Directory,  having  received  but  few  re- 
enforcements  and  very  little  money,  had  to  exert  all  his 
powers  and  energy  to  press  a  few  advantages  from  the  su- 
perior forces  of  the  enemy.  Everywhere  his  presence  and 
personal  action  were  needed ;  and,  constantly  busy  with  war, 
ever  sword  in  hand,  he  could  not,  for  long  weeks,  even 
once  take  pen  in  hand  and  write  to  his  Josephine.  His 
longings  had  to  subside  before  the  force  of  circumstances, 
which  claimed  the  general's  whole  time. 

On  the  3d  of  February,  1797,  he  again  finds  time  to 
send  her  a  few  lines,  to  say  that  he  is  breaking  up  and  go- 
ing to  Rimini.  Then,  after  Alvinzi  had  been  again  defeated, 
after  the  fortress  of  Mantua  had  capitulated,  Bonaparte  had 
to  break  up  again  and  go  to  Rome,  to  require  from  the 
pope  the  reason  why  he  had  made  common  cause  with  Aus- 
tria, and  shown  himself  the  enemy  of  the  French  republic 


BONAPARTE  AND  JOSEPHINE  IN  MILAN.         315 

In  Bologna  he  lingered  a  few  days,  as  Josephine,  in  com- 
pliance with  his  wishes,  had  come  there  to  make  amends  by 
her  presence  for  so  long  a  separation. 

She  remained  in  Bologna,  while  Bonaparte  advanced  to- 
ward the  city  of  the  Church.  But  the  gloomy  quietude,  the 
constant  rumors  of  war,  the  threatening  dangers,  the  in- 
trigues with  which  she  was  surrounded,  the  hostile  exertions 
of  the  priests,  the  want  of  society,  of  friendly  faces,  every 
thing  had  a  tendency  to  make  Josephine's  residence  in  Bo- 
logna very  disagreeable,  and  to  bring  on  sadness  and  nerv- 
ousness. 

In  this  gloomy  state  of  mind  she  writes  to  Bonaparte 
that  she  feels  sick,  exhausted  and  helpless ;  that  she  is  anx- 
0U8  to  return  to  Paris.    He  answers  her  from  Ancona : 

"  The  8th  Pluvioae,  Year  V.  (February  16,  1797). 

"  You  are  sad,  you  are  sick,  you  write  to  me  no  longer, 
you  wish  to  return  to  Paris !  Do  you  no  longer  love  your 
friend  ?  This  thought  makes  me  very  unhappy.  My  dear 
friend,  life  is  intolerable  to  me,  since  I  have  heard  of  your 
sadness. 

*'  I  send  you  at  once  Moscati  to  take  care  of  you.  My 
health  is  somewhat  feeble ;  my  cold  hangs  on.  I  pray  you 
spare  yourself,  and  love  me  as  much  as  I  love  you,  and  do 
write  every  day.     My  restlessness  is  horrible. 

"  I  have  given  orders  to  Moscati  to  accompany  you  to 
Ancona,  if  you  will  come.  I  will  write  to  you  and  let  you 
know  where  I  am. 

"  I  may  perhaps  make  peace  with  the  pope,  and  then 
will  soon  be  with  you ;  it  is  the  most  intense  desire  of  my 
life. 

"  I  send  a  hundred  kisses.  Think  not  that  any  thing 
can  equal  my  love,  unless  it  be  my  solicitude  for  you.  Write 
to  me  every  day  yourself,  my  dearly-beloved  one ! 

"  Bonaparte." 


816  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINK 

But  Josephine,  in  her  depressed  state  of  mind,  and  her 
nervous  irritability,  did  not  have  the  courage  to  draw  nearer 
tlie  scenes  of  war,  and  she  dreaded  to  face  again  such  dan- 
gers as  once  she  had  encountered  in  Brescia  and  on  he? 
journey  to  Florence.  She  had  not  been  able  to  overcome 
the  indolence  of  the  Creole  so  much  as  to  write  to  Bona- 
parte. Fully  conscious  of  his  love  and  pardon,  she  relied 
upon  them  when,  in  her  reluctance  to  every  exertion,  she 
announced  to  him,  through  the  physician  Moscati,  that  she 
would  not  come  to  Ancona,  but  would  wait  for  him  in  Bo- 
logna. 

This  news  made  a  very  painful  impression  upon  Bona- 
parte, and  filled  him  with  sorrow,  though  it  reached  him  on 
a  day  in  which  he  had  obtained  a  new  triumph,  a  spiritual 
victory  without  any  shedding  of  blood.  The  pope,  fright- 
ened at  the  army  detachments  approaching  Rome,  as  well 
as  at  the  menacing  language  of  the  victor  of  Areola,  signed 
a  peace  with  the  French  republic,  and  with  the  general 
whose  sword  had  bowed  into  the  dust  all  the  princes  of 
Italy,  and  freed  all  the  population  from  their  duties  as  sub- 
jects. Bonaparte  announced  this  to  Josephine,  and  it  is 
evident  how  important  it  was  to  him  that  this  news  should 
precede  even  his  love-murmurings  and  reproaches.  His 
letter  was  dated 

"  ToLONTiNO,  the  l8t  Ventose,  Year  V.  (February  19, 1797). 

"Peace  with  Rome  is  signed.  Bologna,  Ferrara,  Ro- 
magna  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  French  republic.  The 
pope  has  to  pay  us  in  a  short  time  thirty  millions,  and  gives 
OS  many  precious  objects  of  art. 

"  I  leave  to-morrow  for  Ancona,  and  then  for  Rimini, 
Ravenna,  and  Bologna.  If  your  health  permits,  come  over 
to  meet  me  in  Ravenna,  but,  I  implore  you,  spare  yourself. 

"  Not  a  word  from  your  hand !  What  have  I  done  ?  To 
think  only  of  you,  to  love  but  you,  to  live  but  for  my  wife, 


BONAPARTE  AND  JOSEPHINE  IN  MILAN.         317 

to  enjoy  only  my  beloved's  happiness,  does  this  deserve  such 
a  cruel  treatment  from  her?  My  friend,  I  implore  you, 
think  of  me,  and  write  to  me  every  day.  Either  you  are 
sick,  or  you  love  me  no  longer.  Do  you  imagine,  then,  that 
my  heart  is  of  marble  ?  Why  do  you  have  so  little  sympa- 
thy with  my  sorrow  ?  You  must  have  a  very  poor  idea  of 
me !  That  I  cannot  believe.  You,  to  whom  Nature  has 
imparted  so  much  understanding,  so  much  amiability,  and 
so  much  beauty,  you,  who  alone  can  rule  in  my  heart,  you 
know,  without  doubt,  what  power  you  have  over  me  ! 
"  Write  to  me,  think  of  me,  and  love  me. 
"  Yours  entirely,  yours  for  life, 

"  BOKAPARTE." 

This  is  the  last  letter  of  Bonaparte  to  Josephine  during 
his  first  Italian  campaign — the  last  at  least  in  the  series  of 
letters  which  Queen  Hortense  has  made  public,  as  the  most 
beautiful  and  most  glorious  monument  to  her  mother.* 

We  have  dwelt  upon  them  because  these  letters,  like  sun- 
beams, throw  a  bright  light  on  the  new  pathway  of  Jose- 
phine's life — because  they  are  an  eloquent  and  splendid 
testimony  to  the  love  which  Josephine  had  inspired  in  her 
young  husband,  and  also  to  her  amiableness,  to  her  sweet- 
ness of  disposition,  to  her  grace,  and  to  all  the  noble  and 
charming  qualities  which  procured  her  so  much  admiration 
and  affection,  and  which  still  caused  her  to  be  loved,  sought 
for  and  celebrated,  when  she  had  to  descend  from  the  height 
of  a  throne,  and  became  the  deserted,  divorced  wife  of  the 
man  who  loved  her  immeasurably,  and  who  so  often  had 
sworn  to  her  that  this  love  would  only  end  with  his  life  ! 

*  "  Lettres  de  Napoleon  a  Josephine  et  de  Josephine  k  Napoleon  et 
ik  sa  fille.    Londres  et  Leipzic,  1833." 


818  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE   COURT   OF   MONTEBELLO. 

On  the  18th  of  April  were  finally  signed,  in  Leoben,  the 
preliminaries  of  peace  between  Austria  and  France,  and 
which  finally  put  an  end  to  this  cruel  war.  Austria  was 
compelled  to  acknowledge  herself  defeated,  for  even  the 
Archduke  Charles,  who  had  pushed  forward  from  the  Rhine 
with  his  army  to  oppose  the  conqueror  of  Wurmser  and  of 
Alvinzi,  had  not  been  able  to  arrest  Bonaparte  in  his  victo- 
rious career. 

Bonaparte  had  publicly  declared  he  would  march  toward 
Vienna,  and  dictate  to  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  in  his  very 
palace,  terms  of  peace.  He  was  at  the  point  of  carrying 
into  execution  this  bold  plan.  Since  the  battle  of  Tag- 
liamento,  on  the  16th  of  March,  the  army  of  the  archduke 
was  broken,  and  he  could  no  longer  prevent  Bonaparte  from 
marching  with  his  army  over  Laybach  and  Trieste  into  Ger- 
many. On  the  25th  of  March,  Bonaparte  entered  into  Kla- 
genfurt;  and  now  that  he  was  but  forty  miles  from  the 
capital,  the  Austrian  court  began  to  tremble  at  the  approach 
of  this  army  of  sans-culottes  who,  under  the  leadership  of 
General  Bonaparte,  had  been  transformed  into  heroes.  She 
therefore  accepted  the  propositions  of  peace  made  by  Bona- 
parte, and,  as  already  said,  its  preliminaries  were  signed  in 
Leoben. 

Now  Bonaparte  could  rest  after  such  constant  and  bloody 
work,  now  he  could  again  hasten  to  his  Josephine,  who  was 
waiting  for  him  in  the  palace  of  Serbelloni. 

The  whole  city — all  Lombardy — was  with  her,  awaiting 
him.  His  journey  from  Leoben  to  Milan  was  a  continuous 
triumph,  which,  however,  reached  its  culminating  point  at 
his  entrance  into  the  city.  Milan  had  adorned  herself  for 
this  day  as  a  bride  to  receive  her  hero.     From  every  balcony 


THE  COURT  OF  MONTEBELLO.  319 

waved  the  united  French  and  Italian  standards,  costly  tapes- 
tries were  hanging  down,  every  window  was  occupied  by 
beautiful  women  gayly  attired,  and  who,  with  large  bouquets 
of  flowers  and  waving  handkerchiefs,  greeted  the  conqueror. 
All  the  dignitaries  of  the  city  went  to  meet  him  in  proces- 
sional pomp ;  from  every  tower  sounded  the  welcome  chimes, 
and  the  compact  masses  of  the  people  in  the  streets  and  on 
the  roofs  of  the  houses  filled  the  air  with  the  jubilant  shout  : 
"  Long  live  the  deliverer  of  Italy !  the  conqueror  of  Aus- 
tria ! " 

Josephine,  surrounded  by  ladies  of  the  highest  aristocra- 
cy of  Lombardy,  received  her  husband  in  the  Palace  Serbel- 
loni.  With  radiant  smiles,  and  yet  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 
she  received  him,  her  heart  swelling  with  a  lofty  joy  at  this 
ovation  to  Bonaparte ;  and  through  the  glorification  of  this 
victory  he  appeared  to  her  more  beautiful,  more  worthy  of 
love,  than  ever  before.  On  this  day  of  his  return  from  so 
many  battles  and  victories  her  heart  gave  itself  up  with  all 
its  power,  all  its  unreservedness  and  fulness,  to  this  won- 
drous man  who  had  won  so  many  important  battles,  and 
who  bowed  before  her  alone  with  all  the  submissive  humility 
of  a  conquered  man !  From  this  day  she  loved  him  with  that 
warm,  strong  love  which  was  to  end  only  with  her  death. 

Josephine  had  good  reason  to  be  happy  on  this  day,  for 
it  brought  her  not  only  her  husband,  but  also  a  new  source 
of  happiness,  her  son,  her  dear  Eugene.  Bonaparte  had 
sent  for  him  from  Paris,  and  given  him  a  commission  of 
second  lieutenant  in  the  first  regiment  of  hussars,  and  had 
also  appointed  him  adjutant  of  the  commanding  general  of 
the  army  of  Italy,  perhaps  as  much  to  give  to  Josephine  a 
new  proof  of  his  affection  as  to  attach  Eugene  to  his  per- 
son, for  whom  he  felt  the  love  of  a  father. 

Near  the  returned  general,  Josephine,  to  her  supreme 
delight,  saw  her  dear  son,  from  whom  she  had  been  sepa- 
rated so  long ;  and  Eugene,  whom  she  had  left  in  Paris  a 


820  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

mere  boy,  presented  himself  to  her  in  Milan,  in  his  officer'g 
uniform,  as  a  youth,  with  countenance  beaming  with  joy 
and  eyes  full  of  lustre,  ready  to  enter  upon  fame's  pathway, 
on  which  his  step-father,  so  brilliant  a  model,  was  walking 
-before  him.  The  maternal  heart  of  Josephine  felt  both 
love  and  pride  at  the  sight  of  this  young  man,  so  remark- 
able for  his  healthy  appearance,  and  his  youthful  vigor  and 
genius,  and  she  thanked  Bonaparte  with  redoubled  love  for 
the  joyous  surprise  which  his  considerate  affection  had  pre- 
pared for  her. 

Now  began  for  Josephine  and  Bonaparte  happy  days, 
illumined  by  all  the  splendor  of  festivities,  of  fealty  exhib- 
ited, of  triumphs  realized.  After  lingering  a  few  days  in  Mi- 
lan, Bonaparte,  with  his  wife,  the  whole  train  of  his  friends, 
his  adjutants  and  servants,  removed  to  the  pleasure-castle 
of  Montebello,  near  Milan. 

Here,  amid  rich  natural  scenery,  in  this  large,  imposing 
castle,  which,  built  on  the  summit  of  a  hill,  mantled  with 
olive-groves  and  vineyards,  afforded  on  all  sides  a  view  of 
the  surrounding,  smiling  plains  of  Lombardy — here  Bona- 
parte wished  to  rest  from  the  hardships  and  dangers  of  his 
last  campaign ;  here,  he  wished  to  organize  the  great  Italian 
republic  which  was  then  the  object  of  his  exertions,  and 
whose  iron  crown  he  afterward  coveted  to  place  on  his 
head.  At  Montebello  he  wished  to  enact  new  laws  for 
Italy,  create  new  institutious,  reduce  to  silence,  with  threat- 
ening voice,  the  opposition  of  those  who  dared  to  oppose  to 
the  new  law  of  liberty  the  old  centennial  rights  of  posses- 
sion and  of  citizenship. 

Italy  was  to  be  free,  such  was  the  will  of  her  deliverer ; 
and  he  took  great  care  not  to  let  any  one  suspect  or  read 
the  secret  thoughts  which  he  kept  hid  behind  the  pompous 
proclamations  of  his  authority.  He  therefore  answered  eva. 
sively  and  vaguely  those  who  came  to  fathom  his  designs, 
and  to  become  acquainted  with  his  plans. 


THE  COURT  OF  MONTEBELLO.  321 

The  Grand-duke  of  Tuscany  sent  to  Montebello  for  this 
purpose,  the  Marquis  Manfredini.  He  was  instructed  to 
ask  General  Bonapayte  if  it  was  his  intention  to  destroy  the 
grand-duchy  of  Tuscany,  and  to  incorporate  its  territory 
into  the  great  Italian  republic.  The  marquis  implored 
Bonaparte  with  persuasive,  touching  accents,  to  tell  him 
what  his  plans  were,  and  if  he  would  allow  Tuscany  to  sub- 
sist as  an  independent  state. 

Bonaparte,  smiling,  shrugged  his  shoulders:  "Signer 
marquis,"  said  he,  "  you  remind  me  of  that  creditor  who 
once  asked  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan  when  he  wished  to  pay 
him.  The  cardinal  simply  answered :  '  My  dear  sir,  do  not 
be  so  curious.*  If  your  grand-duke  will  keep  quiet,  he  will 
suffer  no  injury." 

Napoleon  exhibited  less  friendliness  and  good-nature  to- 
ward the  republic  of  Venice,  which  had  also  sent  her  dele- 
gates to  Montebello  for  the  sake  of  reconciling  the  general, 
who  had  sworn  vengeance  against  the  republic,  because  a  sort 
of  Sicilian  Vespers  had  been  organized  there  against  the 
French  ;  and  because,  especially  in  Verona,  and  throughout 
the  Venetian  provinces,  thousands  of  Frenchmen  had  been 
murdered  by  the  revolted  peasants,  whom  the  fanatical 
priesthood  had  stirred  to  sedition. 

Now,  that  Bonaparte  had  defeated  the  Grand-duke 
Charles,  the  hope  of  the  rebels,  Venice  humbly  sent  her 
most  distinguished  sons  to  plead  for  forgiveness  and  indul- 
gence, and  to  promise  full  reparation.  But  Napoleon  re- 
ceived them  with  contempt  and  threatening  anger,  and  to 
their  humble  petitions  replied  in  a  thundering  voice,  "I 
will  be  an  Attila  to  Venice  ! " 

Meanwhile  the  same  general,  who  swore  the  ruin  of 
Venice,  showed  himself  conciliating  and  lenient  toward 
Rome,  and  instead  of  being  an  Attila,  he  endeavored  to  be 
a  preserver  and  a  protector. 

The  Directory  in  Paris  was  not  fully  satisfied  with  tho 


322  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

peace  which  Bonaparte  had  concluded  with  the  pope.  They 
thought  Napoleon  had  been  too  lenient  with  him ;  that  he 
ought  to  have  taken  Kome  from  him,  as  he  tore  away  Milan 
from  the  Emperor  of  Germany.  The  five  rulers  of  France 
went  so  far  as  to  make  reproaches  against  Bonaparte  for  his 
leniency,  and  to  require  from  him  the  downfall  of  the  pope, 
and  with  him  that  of  Catholicism. 

But  Bonaparte  had  the  boldness  to  oppose  these  de- 
mands of  the  Directory,  and  to  set  up  his  will  in  defiance  to 
their  supreme  authority. 

He  wrote  to  the  Directory  :  "  You  say  with  reason  that 
the  Koman  religion  will  long  be  the  enemy  of  the  republic ; 
that  is  very  true,  but  it  is  equally  true  that,  on  account  of 
the  great  distance  you  are  from  the  scene  of  events,  you  can- 
not measure  the  amount  of  difficulty  there  is  in  carrying 
out  your  orders. 

"You  wish  to  destroy  the  Catholic  Church  in  a  city 
where  it  has  ruled  so  many  years.  Believe  me,  it  is  useless 
to  burden  ourselves  with  fruitless  labor.  We  have  already 
enough  to  do ;  to  defeat  our  enemies  on  the  field  of  battle, 
it  is  not  necessary  to  arouse  all  Europe  against  us — even 
the  heretics,  through  policy,  would  defend  the  cause  of  the 
Holy  See.  Are  you  fully  convinced  that  France  would 
calmly  look  on  ?  France  needs  a  religious  worship :  that 
which  you  propose  cannot,  on  account  of  its  simplicity,  re- 
place this  one.  Follow  my  advice  :  let  the  pope  be  pope ! 
If  you  bury  his  earthly  power,  acknowledge  at  least  his 
spiritual  authority.  Force  him  not  to  seek  refuge  at  a  for- 
eign court,  where  by  his  mere  presence  it  would  gain  an 
immense  ascendency.  Italy  wants  religion  and  the  pope. 
If  she  is  wounded  in  her  faith,  she  will  be  hostile  to  us, 
while  now  she  is  peaceably  inclined.  I  repeat,  the  present 
difficulties  are  too  weighty,  to  add  new  ones.  Who  can 
fathom  the  future  ?  Who  can  assume  the  responsibility  ot 
such  a  deed  as  the  one  you  propose  ?  -I  shall  not,  therefore,  do 


THE  COURT  OF  MONTEBELLO.  323 

it,  since  you  leave  it  with  me  to  inform  you  on  the  subject.  I 
consider  it  dangerous  to  conjure  up  fanaticism.  The  Catho- 
lic religion  is  that  of  the  arts,  and  the  arts  are  absolutely 
necessary  to  Italy's  welfare.  Be  sure  that  if  you  destroy  the 
former,  you  give  a  fatal  blow  to  the  latter,  and  that  the 
Italians  are  good  accountants.  Ponder  well  these  matters, 
then,  and  be  sure  that  Catholicism  has  ceased  to  exist  in 
France.  Are  you  well  satisfied  that  no  one  there  will  go 
back  to  it?" 

While  in  Montebello,  though  the  sword  had  been  laid 
aside,  Bonaparte  was  still  busy  with  war  affairs,  and  the 
quarrels  of  princes  and  nations.  Josephine  at  the  same 
time  passed  there  the  honored  life  of  a  mighty  princess, 
whose  favors  and  intercessions  the  great  and  the  powerful 
of  earth  endeavored  to  obtain  by  every  conceivable  means. 
The  ladies  of  the  aristocracy  of  Milan  were  eager  to  pay 
their  homage  to  the  wife  of  the  deliverer ;  the  courts  of 
Italy,  as  well  as  other  parts  of  Europe,  sent  ambassadors  to 
General  Bonaparte;  and  these  gentlemen  were  naturally 
zealous  in  offering  their  incense  to  Josephine,  in  surround- 
ing her  with  courtly  and  flattering  attentions.  The  Mar- 
quis de  Gallo,  the  ambassador  of  Spain  at  the  court  of  Ve- 
rona, came  with  the  Austrian  ambassador,  the  Count  von 
Meerfeld,  to  Montebello,  to  enter  into  negotiations  about 
the  peace  which  was  to  form  the  precious  key-stone  to  the 
preliminaries  of  Leoben ;  and  these  two  gentlemen,  who  op- 
posed to  the  plain  manners  of  Bonaparte's  companions-in- 
arms the  very  essence  of  refined,  polished,  and  witty  court- 
iers, rivalled  each  other  in  showing  to  Josephine  their 
highest  consideration  by  their  festivities  and  amusements ; 
to  win  her  favor  and  interest  through  the  most  complacent 
and  considerate  attention  to  all  her  views,  wishes,  and 
plans. 

Josephine  received  all  this  homage  with  the  enchanting 
jf  race  and  smiling  quietude  of  a  woman  who,  without  exalta- 


324  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

tion  or  pride,  feels  no  surprise  at  any  flattery  or  homage,  but 
kindly  and  thankfully  accej  ts  what  is  due  to  her.  Among 
this  brilliant  Italian  aristocracy  which  surrounded  her — 
among  the  ambassadors  of  the  powers  who  sued  not  so 
much  for  alliance  with  France  as  for  General  Bonaparte's 
favor — among  the  generals  and  superior  ofi&cers  who  had 
shared  with  Bonaparte  the  dangers  of  the  battle-field  and 
the  laurels  of  victory — among  learned  men,  artists,  and 
poets,  whom  Bonaparte  had  often  invited  to  Montebello — 
among  so  brilliant,  so  wealthy,  so  superior,  so  intelligent  a 
society,  Josephine  shone  as  the  resplendent  sun  around 
which  all  these  planets  moved,  and  from  which  they  all 
received  life,  light,  and  happiness.  She  received  the  am- 
bassadors of  sovereigns  with  the  dignity  and  affability  of  a 
princess ;  she  conversed  with  the  most  distinguished  ladies 
in  cheerful  simplicity,  and  with  the  unaffected  joyousness 
and  harmless  innocency  of  a  young  maiden ;  she  conversed 
with  men  of  learning  and  artists  in  profound  and  serious 
tones,  about  their  labors,  their  efforts,  and  success;  she 
allowed  the  generals  to  relate  the  momentous  events  of  the 
late  great  battles,  and  her  eye  shone  with  deeper  pride  and 
pleasure  when  from  the  mouth  of  the  brave  she  heard  the 
enthusiastic  praise  of  her  husband. 

Then  her  keen  looks  would  be  directed  toward  Bona- 
parte, who  perchance  stood  in  a  window  recess,  engaged  in 
some  grave,  solemn  conversation  with  an  eminent  ambas- 
sador ;  her  eyes  again  would  glance  from  her  husband  to 
her  son,  to  this  young  officer  of  seventeen  years,  who  now 
laughed,  jested,  and  played,  as  a  boy,  and  then  with  re- 
spectful attention  listened  to  the  conversation  of  the  gen- 
erals, and  whose  countenance  beamed  with  inspiration  as 
they  spoke  to  him  of  the  mighty  deeds  of  war  and  the  plans 
of  battle  of  his  step-father,  whom  Eugene  loved  with  the 
affection  of  a  son,  and  the  enthusiasm  of  a  disciple  who 
looks  up  to  and  reveres  his  master. 


THE  COURT  OP  MONTEBELLO.  325 

Yes,  Josephine  was  happy  in  these  days  of  Montebello. 
The  past,  with  its  sad  memories,  its  deceptions  and  errors, 
had  sunk  behind  her,  and  a  luminous  future  sent  its  rays 
upon  her  at  the  side  of  the  man  whom  jubilant  Italy  pro- 
claimed "her  deliverer,"  and  whom  Josephine's  joyous 
heart  acknowledged  to  be  her  hero,  her  beloved.  For  now 
(she  loved  him  truly,  not  with  that  love  of  fifteen  years  past, 
with  the  marmoreal  pulse,  of  which  Bonaparte  had  spoken 
to  her  in  his  letters,  but  with  all  the  depth  and  glow  of 
which  a  woman's  heart  is  capable,  with  all  the  passion  and 
jealousy  of  which  the  heart  of  a  creole  alone  is  susceptible. 

Happy,  sunny  days  of  Montebello  !  days  full  of  love,  of 
poetry,  of  beauty,  of  happiness ! — full  of  the  first,  genial, 
undisturbed,  mutual  communion ! — days  of  the  first  tri- 
umphs, of  the  first  homage,  of  the  first  dawn  of  a  brilliant 
future !  Never  could  the  memory  of  those  days  fade  away 
from  Josephine's  heart;  never  could  the  empress,  in  the 
long  series  of  her  triumphs  and  rejoicings,  point  to  an  hour 
like  one  of  those  she  had,  as  the  wife  of  the  general,  enjoyed 
at  Montebello ! 

Every  day  brought  new  festivities,  new  joys,  new  recep- 
tions :  balls,  official  banquets,  select  friendly  dinners,  came 
by  turns ;  in  brilliant  soirees,  they  received  the  aristocracy 
of  Lorabardy,  who,  with  ever-growing  zeal,  struggled  for  the 
honor  of  being  received  at  the  court  of  Montebello,  and  to 
see  the  doors  of  the  drawing-room  of  the  wife  of  General 
Bonaparte  open  to  them.  Sometimes  parties  were  made  up 
for  a  chase,  of  which  Berthier  acted  as  master,  and  who  was 
not  a  whit  behind  in  organizing  hunting-parties  in  the  style 
of  those  of  the  former  court  of  Versailles,  where  he  once  had 
acted  as  page. 

At  times,  in  the  warm  days  of  May,  the  whole  company 
went  out  together  on  the  large  and  splendid  piazza  which 
ran  along  the  castle,  on  the  garden  side,  and  which  was  sup- 
ported by  slender  marble  columns,  and  whose  roof,  made  of 


826  '      THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

thin  wire-work,  was  thickly  shaded  by  the  foliage  of  th« 
Tine,  the  ivy,  and  the  delicate  leaves  of  the  passion-flower. 
Here,  resting  6n  the  marble  settees,  one  listened  in  blessed 
happiness  to  the  music  of  bands  secreted  in  some  myrtle- 
grove  and  playing  military  symphonies  or  patriotic  melodies. 
Then,  as  the  evening  faded  away,  when  the  court  of  Monte- 
bello,  as  the  Italians  now  called  the  residence  of  the  general 
of  the  republic,  had  no  brilliant  reception,  they  gathered  in 
the  drawing-room,  where  Josephine,  with  all  the  affability 
of  a  lady  from  the  great  world,  received  her  guests,  and  with 
all  the  modesty  and  grace  of  a  simple  housewife  served  her- 
self the  tea. 

These  quiet  social  evenings  in  the  little  drawing-room 
of  Josephine,  away  from  excitement,  were  among  Bona- 
parte's happiest  moments ;  there,  for  a  few  hours  at  least,  he 
forgot  the  mighty  cares  and  schemes  which  occupied  his 
mind,  and  abandoned  himself  to  the  joys  of  society,  and  to 
a  cheerful  intercourse  with  his  family  and  friends.  In  these 
quiet  evenings  Josephine  exerted  all  the  art  and  refinement 
of  her  great  social  nature  to  render  Bonaparte  cheerful  and 
to  amuse  him.  She  sometimes  organized  a  party  of  vingt- 
et-un,  and  Bonaparte  with  his  cards  was  as  eager  for  the 
victory  as  in  days  past  he  had  been  with  his  soldiers.  Very 
often,  when  success  did  not  favor  him,  and  his  cards  were 
not  such  as  suited  him,  the  great  general  would  condescend 
to  correct  fate  {de  corriger  la  fortune) ;  and  he  was  much 
delighted  when  in  his  expertness  he  succeeded,  and,  thanks 
to  his  correction  of  fate,  obtained  the  victory  over  his  play- 
mates. When  the  parti  was  ended,  they  went  out  on  the 
terrace  to  enjoy  the  balmy  air  and  refreshing  coolness  of  the 
evening,  and  to  take  delight  in  witnessing  the  enchanting 
spectacle  afforded  by  the  thousands  of  little  stars  with  which 
the  fire-flies  illumined  the  darkness  of  the  summer  night 
and  encircled  the  lake  as  with  a  coronet  of  emeralds. 

When  they  grew  tired  of  this,  they  returned   to  the 


THE  COURT  OF  MONTEBELLO.  327 

drawing-room  to  listen  to  Josephine's  fine,  full,  soul-like 
voice  singing  the  songs  of  her  island-home,  or  else  to  find 
amusement  in  the  recital  of  fairy  tales  and  marvellous 
stories.  None  understood  this  last  accomplishment  better 
than  Bonaparte ;  and  it  required  only  the  gracious  request, 
the  lovely  smiles  of  his  Josephine,  to  convert  the  general 
into  one  of  those  improvisatores  who  with  their  stories, 
more  resembling  a  dramatic  representation  than  a  narra- 
tive, could  exalt  the  Italian  mind  into  ecstasy,  and  be  ever 
sure  to  attract  an  attentive  audience. 

Bonaparte  understood  the  art  of  holding  his  audience  in 
suspense,  and  keeping  them  in  breathless  attention,  quite  as 
well  as  an  improvisator  of  the  Place  of  St.  Mark  or  of  Toledo 
Street.  His  stories  were  always  full  of  the  highest  dramatic 
action  and  thrilling  effect ;  and  it  was  his  greatest  triumph 
when  he  saw  his  hearers  turn  pale,  and  when  Josephine, 
shuddering,  clung  anxiously  to  him,  as  if  seeking  from  the 
soldier's  hand  protection  against  the  fearful  ghosts  he  had 
evoked. 

After  the  marvellous  stories  came  grave  scientific  con- 
versations with  men  of  learning,  whom  Bonaparte  had  in- 
vited for  the  sake  of  deriving  from  their  intercourse  both 
interest  and  instruction.  Among  these  were  the  renowned 
mathematicians  Maria  Fontana,  Monge,  and  Berthelet ;  and 
the  famous  astronomer  Oriani,  whom  Bonaparte,  through  a 
very  flattering  autographic  note,  had  invited  to  Montebello. 

But  Oriani,  little  accustomed  to  society  and  to  conversa 
tion  with  any  one  but  learned  men,  was  very  reluctant  to 
come  to  Montebello,  and  would  gladly  have  avoided  it  had 
he  not  been  afraid  of  exciting  the  wrath  of  the  great  war- 
rior. Bonaparte,  surrounded  by  his  generals,  his  staff- 
ofl&cers  and  adjutants,  was  in  the  large  and  splendidly-illu- 
mined drawing-room  when  Oriani  made  his  appearance. 

The  savant,  timid  and  embarrassed,  remained  near  the 
door,  and  dared  not  advance  a  single  step  farther  on  this 
23 


328  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

brilliant  floor,  where  the  lights  of  the  chandeliers  were  re- 
flected, and  which  flUed  the  savant  with  more  bewilderment 
than  the  star-bespangled  firmament. 

But  Bonaparte's  keen  eye  understood  at  once  his  newly- 
arrived  guest ;  he  advanced  eagerly  toward  him,  and  as  Ori- 
ani,  stammering  and  embarrassed,  was  endeavoring  to  say 
something,  but  grew  silent  in  the  midst  of  his  speech,  the 
former  smilingly  asked : 

"  What  troubles  you  so  much  ?  You  are  among  your 
friends ;  we  honor  science,  and  I  willingly  bow  to  it." 

"Ah,  general,"  sighed  Oriani,  sorrowfully,  "  this  mag- 
nificence dazzles  me." 

Bonaparte  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  What ! "  said  he, 
looking  around  with  a  contemptuous  glance  on  the  mirrors 
and  rich  tapestries  which  adorned  the  walls,  and  on  the 
glittering  chandeliers,  the  embroidered  uniforms  of  the  gen- 
erals, and  the  costly  toilets  of  the  ladies — "  what,  do  you 
call  this  magnificence?  Can  these  miserable  splendors 
blind  the  man  who  every  night  contemplates  the  far  more 
lofty  and  impressive  glories  of  the  skies  ?  " 

The  savant^  recalled  by  these  warning  words  of  Bona- 
parte to  the  consciousness  of  his  own  dignity,  soon  recovered 
his  quiet  demeanor  and  conversed  long  and  gladly  with  the 
general,  who  never  grew  tired  of  putting  questions  to  him, 
and  of  gaining  from  him  information. 

But  there  were  also  cloudy  moments  in  Montebello,  oft- 
entimes overshadowing  the  serene  sunshine.  They  came 
from  France — from  Rome — and  there  were  even  some 
which  had  their  origin  in  Montebello.  These  clouds  which 
were  formed  in  Montebello,  and  which  caused  slight  showers 
of  tears  with  Josephine,  and  little  tempests  of  anger  with 
Bonaparte,  were  certainly  not  of  a  very  serious  nature; 
they  owed  their  origin  to  a  lapdog,  and  this  pet  dog  was 
Fortun6,  the  same  which  in  days  gone  by  had  been  the  let- 
ter-carrier between  Josephine  and  her  children  when  she 


THE  COURT  OF  MONTEBELLO.  329 

was  in  the  Carmelite  prison.  Notwithstanding  Fortune  had 
become  old  and  peevish,  Josephine  and  her  children  loved 
him  for  the  sake  of  past  reminiscences,  while  Bonaparte 
simply  hated  and  detested  him.  Bonaparte  had,  however, 
perhaps  without  wishing  it,  erected  for  him  an  abiding 
monument  in  the  "  Memorial  de  Ste.  Helene,"  where  he 
gave  a  report  of  his  hostilities  with  the  lapdog  Fortune, 
along  with  those  of  his  wars  with  the  European  powers. 

"  I  was  then,"  says  Bonaparte,  in  his  "  Memorial,"  "  the 
ruler  of  Italy,  but  in  my  own  house  I  had  nothing  to  say ; 
there  Josephine's  will  was  supreme.  There  was  an  ugly, 
growling  personage,  at  war  with  everybody,  whose  bad  quali- 
ties made  him  intolerable  to  me  and  to  others,  yet  he  was 
an  important  individual,  who  was  by  Josephine  and  her 
children  flattered  from  morning  till  evening,  and  who  was 
the  object  of  their  most  delicate  attentions.  Fortune,  to 
me  a  hateful  beast,  was  a  horrible  lapdog,  with  crooked  legs 
and  deformed  body,  without  the  slightest  beauty  or  kindness, 
but  of  a  most  malicious  disposition.  I  would  gladly  have 
killed  him,  and  often  prayed  Heaven  to  deliver  me  from 
him.  This  happiness  was,  however,  reserved  for  me  in 
Montebello.  A  bull-dog  which  belonged  to  my  cook  be- 
came tired  of  his  churlish  incivilities,  and  not  having  the 
same  considerateness  as  the  rest  of  the  inmates  of  the  palace 
of  Montebello,  he  attacked  the  detestable  animal  so  vio- 
lently as  to  kill  him  on  the  spot.  Then  began  tears  and 
sighs  in  the  house.  Josephine  could  not  be  comforted; 
Eugene  wept,  and  I  myself  against  my  will  put  on  a  sorrow- 
ful countenance.  But  I  gained  nothing  by  this  fortunate 
accident.  After  Fortune  had  been  stuffed,  sung  in  sonnets, 
and  made  immortal  by  funeral  discourses,  he  was  replaced 
by  two  setters,  male  and  female.  Then  came  the  amiable 
displays  and  the  bickerings  of  this  love-couple,  and  after- 
ward their  progeny.     So  that  I  knew  not  what  to  do. 

"  Soon  after  this,  as  I  was  walking  in  the  park,  I  noticed 


330  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

my  cook,  who,  as  soon  as  he  saw  me,  disappeared  on  a  side* 
path. 

"  '  Are  you  afraid  of  me  ? '  said  I. 

" '  Ah,  general,'  replied  he,  timidly,  *  you  have  good  rea- 
son to  be  angry  with  me.' 

" '  I  ?    What  have  you  done  ? ' 

" '  My  unfortunate  dog  has  indeed  killed  poor  little 
Fortune.' 

" '  Where  is  your  dog  ? ' 

" '  He  is  in  the  city.  God  have  mercy  on  us  !  he  dares 
not  come  here.' 

"  '  Listen,  my  good  fellow '  (but  I  spoke  in  a  low  voice, 
for  fear  of  being  heard), '  let  your  dog  run  about  just  as  he 
likes — perhaps  he  may  deliver  me  from  the  others.' 

"  But  this  happiness  was  not  in  reserve  for  me.  Jose- 
phine, not  satisfied  with  dogs,  soon  after  this  procured  a 
cat,  which  brought  me  into  a  state  of  despair  ;  for  this  de- 
testable animal  was  the  most  vicious  of  its  race "  * 

The  strifes  with  Fortune,  with  the  setters,  and  with  the 
cat,  troubled  Bonaparte  less  than  the  intrigues  which  his 
enemies  in  Italy,  as  well  as  in  France,  stirred  up  against 
him,  and  through  them  endeavored  to  destroy  him. 

In  Italy  it  was  the  priests  who  had  sworn  deadly  enmity 
to  Bonaparte,  and  who,  with  all  the  weapons  which  the  ar- 
senal of  the  Church,  fanaticism,  and  superstition,  furnished 
them,  fought  against  the  general  who  had  dared  to  break 
the  power  of  the  pope,  and  to  restrict  within  narrower  limits 
the  rule  of  the  priests.  It  was  these  priests  who  continually 
made  the  most  furious  opposition  to  the  ascendency  which 
Bonaparte  had  won  over  the  Italian  mind,  and  sought  con- 
stantly to  rouse  up,  within  the  minds  of  the  people,  opposi- 
tion to  him. 

One  day,  Marmont  announced  that  a  certain  Abbe  Sergi 

•  "Memorial  de  Ste.  H61dne." 


THE  COURT  OP  MONTEBELLO.  331 

was  exciting  the  peasants  against  the  French,  and  especially 
against  Bonaparte ;  that  he  was  preaching  sedition  and  re- 
bellion in  Christ's  name,  and  was  showing  to  the  ignorant 
laborers  a  letter,  which  he  had  received  from  Christ,  in 
which  it  was  declared  that  General  Bonaparte  was  an  atheist 
and  a  heretic,  whom  one  ought  to  destroy  and  drive  away 
from  Italy's  sacred  soil. 

Bonaparte  at  once  ordered  Marmont  to  arrest  this  Abbe 
Sergi,  who  lived  in  Poncino,  and  to  bring  him  to  Monte- 
bello.  His  orders  were  followed,  and,  after  a  few  days,  the 
captive  abb6  was  brought  before  the  general.  He  seemed 
cheerful,  unaffected,  and  assumed  the  appearance  of  being 
unconscious  of  guilt. 

"  Are  you  the  man,"  exclaimed  Bonaparte,  "  to  whom 
Christ  writes  letters  from  Paradise  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  signer  general,  you  are  joking,"  replied  the 
abb6,  smiling — but  one  of  Bonaparte's  angry  looks  fell 
upon  his  broad,  well-fed  face,  and  forced  the  priest  into 
silence. 

"  I  am  not  Joking,"  answered  Bonaparte,  angrily ;  "  you, 
however,  are  joking  with  the  peasants,  since  you  are  telling 
these  poor,  superstitious  men  that  you  are  in  correspondence 
with  Christ." 

"  Alas !  signer  general,"  sighed  the  abbe,  with  contrite 
mien,  "  I  wanted  to  do  something  in  the  defence  of  our 
cause,  and  what  can  a  poor  clergyman  do? — he  has  no 
weapons — " 

"  Mind  that  in  future  you  procure  other  weapons !  "  in- 
terrupted Bonaparte,  vehemently.  "  That  will  be  better  for 
you  than  to  dare  use  the  Deity  for  your  schemes  of  wicked- 
ness. I  order  you  to  receive  no  more  letters  from  Paradise, 
not  even  from  Christ.  Correspond  with  your  equals,  and 
be  on  your  guard,  or  you  will  soon  find  that  I  can  punish 
the  disobedient ! " 

The  abb6  bowed  penitently,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 


332  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Bonaparte  turned  his  back  to  him,  and  ordered  him  to  be 
taken  to  Poncino. 

From  that  day,  however,  much  as  he  hated  General 
Bonaparte,  the  Abbe  Sergi  received  no  more  letters  from 
Paradise. 

Nevertheless,  the  letters  of  the  Abb6  Sergi  were  not 
those  which  gave  the  most  solicitude  to  Bonaparte ;  much 
worse  were  those  he  received  from  Paris,  which  gave  him  an 
account  of  the  persevering  intrigues  of  his  enemies,  and  the 
malicious  slanders  that  were  circulated  against  him  by  the 
Directory,  who  were  envious  of  his  power  and  superiority, 
and  which  mischievous  and  poisonous  calumnies  were  re- 
echoed in  the  newspapers. 

These  insidious  attacks  of  the  journals,  more  than  any 
thing  else,  excited  Bonaparte's  vehement  anger.  The  hero 
who,  on  the  battle-field,  trembled  not  before  the  balls  which 
whizzed  about  his  head,  had  a  violent  dislike  to  those  insect- 
stings  of  critics  who,  like  wasps  humming  round  about  the 
laurel-wreath  on  his  brow,  ever  found  between  the  leaves  of 
his  fame  some  place  where  with  their  stings  they  could 
wound  him,  and  who  was  as  sensitive  as  a  young  blameless 
maiden  would  be  against  the  wasp-stings  of  slander. 

This  irritable  sensitiveness  led  him  to  consider  those  de- 
testable attacks  of  the  journals  worth  a  threatening  denun- 
ciation to  the  Directory. 

"  Citizen-directors,"  wrote  he  to  them,  "  I  owe  you  an 
open  confession ;  my  heart  is  depressed  and  filled  with  hor- 
ror through  the  constant  attacks  of  the  Parisian  journals. 
Sold  to  the  enemies  of  the  republic,  they  rush  upon  me, 
who  am  boldly  defending  the  republic.  *  I  am  keeping  the 
plunder,'  whilst  I  am  defeating  them  ;  '  I  affect  despotism,* 
whilst  I  speak  only  as  general-in-chief ;  '  I  assume  supreme 
power,'  and  yet  I  submit  to  law!  Every  thing  I  do  is 
turned  to  a  crime  against  me  ;  the  poison  streams  over  me. 

"  Were  any  one  in  Italy  to  dare  give  utterance  to  the 


THE  COURT  OP  MONTEBELLO.  333 

one-thousandth  part  of  those  calumnies,  I  would  impose 
upon  him  an  awful  silence  ! 

"  In  Paris,  this  is  allowed  to  go  on  unpunished,  and  your 
tolerance  is  an  encouragement.  The  Directory  is  thus  pro- 
ducing the  impression  that  it  is  opposed  to  me.  If  the 
directors  suspect  me,  let  them  say  so,  and  I  will  justify  my- 
self. If  they  are  convinced  of  my  uprightness,  let  them 
defend  me. 

"  In  this  circle  of  argument,  I  include  the  Directory  with 
me,  and  cannot  go  beyond  it.  My  desire  is,  to  be  useful  to 
my  country.     Must  I,  for  reward,  drink  the  cup  of  poison  ? 

"  I  can  no  longer  be  satisfied  with  empty,  evasive  argu- 
ments ;  and  if  justice  is  not  done  to  me,  then  I  must  take  it 
myself.  Therefore,  I  am  yours.  Salutation  and  brotherly 
love.  Bonaparte." 

But  all  these  vexations,  hostilities,  and  calumnies,  were, 
Tiowever,  as  already  said,  mere  clouds,  which  now  and  then 
obscured  the  bright  sunshine  at  the  court  of  Montebello. 
At  a  smile  or  a  loving  word  from  Josephine,  they  flew  away 
«ipidly,  and  the  sunshine  again  in  all  its  splendor,  the  pleas- 
ares,  feasts,  and  joys,  continued  in  their  undisturbed  course. 
All  Italy  did  homage  to  the  conqueror,  and  it  was  therefore 
very  natural  that  sculptors  and  painters  should  endeavor  to 
draw  some  advantage  from  this  enthusiasm  for  its  deliverer, 
and  that  they  should  endeavor  to  represent  to  the  admirers 
of  Bonaparte  his  peculiar  form  and  countenance. 

But  Bonaparte  did  not  like  to  have  his  portrait  painted. 
The  staring,  watchful  gaze  of  an  artist  was  an  annoyance  to 
him  ;  it  made  him  restless  and  anxious,  as  if  he  feared  that 
the  scrutinizing  look  at  his  face  might  read  the  secrets  of 
his  soul.  Yet  at  Josephine's  tender  and  pressing  request 
he  had  consented  to  its  being  taken  by  a  young  painter,  Le 
Gros,  whose  distinguished  talent  had  been  brought  to  his 
notice. 


384  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Le  Gros  came  therefore  to  Montebello,  happy  in  the 
thought  that  he  could  immortalize  himself  through  a  suc- 
cessful portrait  of  the  hero  whom  he  honored  with  all  the 
enthusiasm  of  a  young  heart.  But  he  waited  in  vain  three 
days  for  Bonaparte  to  give  him  a  sitting.  The  general  had 
not  one  instant  to  spare  for  the  unfortunate  young  artist. 

At  last,  at  Josephine's  pressing  request,  Bonaparte  con- 
sented on  the  fourth  day  to  sit  for  him  one-quarter  of  an 
hour  after  breakfast.  Le  Gros  came  therefore  delighted,  at 
the  time  appointed,  into  the  cabinet  of  Josephine,  and  had 
his  easel  ready,  awaiting  the  moment  when  Bonaparte  would 
sit  in  the  arm-chair  opposite.  But,  alas !  the  painter's 
hopes  were  not  to  be  realized.  The  general  could  not  bring 
himself  to  sit  in  that  arm-chair,  doing  nothing  but  keeping 
his  head  quiet,  so  that  the  painter  might  copy  his  features. 
He  had  no  sooner  been  seated,  than  he  sprang  up  suddenly, 
and  declared  it  was  quite  impossible  to  endure  such  martyr- 
dom. 

Le  Gros  dared  not  repeat  his  request,  but  with  tears  in 
his  eyes  gathered  up  his  painting-materials.  Josephine 
smiled.  "  I  see  very  well,"  said  she,  "  that  I  must  have  re- 
course to  some  extraordinary  means  to  save  for  me  and  for 
posterity  a  portrait  of  the  hero  of  Areola." 

She  sat  down  in  the  arm-chair,  and  beckoned  to  Le 
Gros  to  have  his  easel  in  readiness.  Then  with  a  tender 
voice  she  called  Napoleon  to  her,  and  opening  both  arms 
she  drew  him  down  on  her  lap,  and  in  this  way  she  induced 
him  to  sit  down  quietly  a  few  moments  and  allow  the 
painter  the  sight  of  his  face,  thus  enabling  him  to  sketch 
the  portrait.* 

At  the  end  of  this  peculiar  sitting,  Bonaparte  smilingly 
promised  that  he  would  next  day  grant  the  painter  a  second 
one,  provided  Josephine  would  again  have  the  "  extraordi- 

*  "  Mfimoires  et  Souvenirs  du  Comte  Lavalette,"  vol.  i.,  p.  168. 


THE  PEACE  OP  CAMPO  FORMIO.  335 

nary  means  "  ready.  She  consented,  and  for  four  days  in 
succession  Le  Gros  was  enabled  to  sit  before  him  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  and  throw  upon  his  canvas  the  features  of  the 
general,  while  he  quietly  sat  on  Josephine's  lap. 

This  picture,  which  Le  Gros  thus  painted,  thanks  to  the 
sweet  ruse  of  Josephine,  and  which  was  scattered  through- 
out Europe  in  copperplate  prints,  represented  Bonaparte, 
with  uncovered  head,  holding  a  standard  in  his  hand,  and 
with  his  face  turned  toward  his  soldiers,  calling  on  them  to 
follow  him  as  he  dashed  on  the  bridge  of  Areola,  amid  a 
shower  of  Austrian  balls. 

It  is  a  beautiful,  imposing  picture,  and  contemporaries 
praised  it  for  its  likeness  to  the  hero,  but  no  one  could  be- 
lieve that  this  pale,  grave  countenance,  these  gloomy  eyes, 
and  earnest  lips,  which  seemed  incapable  of  a  smile,  were 
those  of  Bonaparte  as  he  sat  on  the  lap  of  his  beloved  Jose- 
phine when  Le  Gros  was  painting  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 

THE   PEACE   OF   CAMPO   FORMIO. 

After  three  months  the  time  drew  nigh  when  the  peace 
negotiations  were  to  reach  a  final  conclusion,  and  when  it 
was  to  be  decided  if  the  Emperor  of  Germany  would  make 
peace  with  the  French  republic  or  if  he  would  renew  the 
war. 

For  three  months  had  the  negotiations  continued  in  Mon- 
tebello — three  months  of  feasts,  pleasures,  and  receptions. 
To  the  oflBcial  and  public  rejoicings  had  been  also  added 
domestic  joys.  Madame  Letitia  came  to  Italy  to  warm  her 
happy,  proud  mother's  heart  at  the  triumphs  of  her  darling 
son ;  and  she  brought  with  her  her  daughter  Pauline,  while 


336  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

the  youngest,  Caroline,  remained  behind  in  Madame  Cam- 
pan's  boarding-school.  It  could  not  be  otherwise  than  that 
the  sisters  of  the  commander-in-chief,  whose  true  beauty  re- 
minded one  of  the  classic  features  of  ancient  Greece,  should 
find  among  the  officers  of  the  army  of  Italy  most  enthusi- 
astic admirers  and  worshippers,  and  that  many  should  long 
for  the  favor  of  being  more  intimately  connected  by  the 
ties  of  affection  with  the  celebrated  general. 

Bonaparte  left  his  sisters  entirely  free  to  make  a  choice 
among  their  suitors,  and  he  hesitated  not  to  give  his  con- 
sent when  Pauline  became  affianced  to  General  Leclerc. 
After  a  few  weeks,  the  marriage  was  celebrated  in  Monte- 
bello;  and,  soon  after,  the  happy  couple  left  that  city  to 
return  to  Paris,  whither  Madame  Letitia  had  preceded 
them. 

Josephine,  however,  remained  with  her  husband;  she 
accompanied  him  from  Montebello  to  Milan,  where  Bona- 
parte, now  that  the  Austrian  envoys  had  taken  their  leave, 
tarried  some  time,  awaiting  the  final  decision  of  the  Aus- 
trian court  upon  his  propositions.  Meanwhile,  the  imperial 
court,  for  good  reasons,  still  hesitated.  It  was  known  that 
in  France  there  was  secretly  preparing  an  event  which  in  a 
short  time  might  bring  on  a  new  order  of  things,  putting 
an  end  to  the  hateful  republic,  and  once  more  placing  the 
Bourbons  on  the  throne  of  the  lilies. 

General  Pichegru,  a  zealous  royalist,  and  intimate  friend 
of  the  Prince  de  Conde,  with  whom  he  had  been  in  secret 
correspondence  for  several  months,  had  organized  a  con- 
spiracy which  had  for  its  object  the  downfall  of  the  Di- 
rectory, the  ruin  of  the  republican  administration,  the  recall 
of  the  monarchy  to  Paris,  and  the  re-establishment  of  the 
Bourbons. 

But  General  Moreau,  who,  with  his  army  on  the  Rhine, 
stood  opposite  to  that  of  the  royalists,  had  the  good  fortune 
to  discover  the  conspiracy,  by  intercepting  Pichegru's  whole 


THE  PEACE  OP  CAMPO  PORMIO.  337 

correspondence.  The  Directory,  informed  by  Moreau,  took 
secretly  precautionary  measures,  and  on  the  18th  Fructidor, 
Pichegru,  with  all  his  real  or  supposed  guilty  companions, 
was  arrested.  To  these  guilty  ones  belonged  also,  according 
to  the  opinion  of  the  Directory,  two  out  of  their  number, 
Carnot  and  Barthelemy,  besides  twenty-two  deputies  and 
one  hundred  and  twenty-eight  others,  all  among  the  edu- 
cated classes  of  society.  These  were  exiled  to  Cayenne ; 
Carnot  alone  escaped  from  this  distant  and  cruel  exile  by  a 
timely  flight  to  Geneva. 

The  18th  Fructidor,  which  disarmed  the  royalists  and 
destroyed  their  plans,  had  a  great  influence  upon  the  nego- 
tiations carried  on  between  France  and  Austria,  which  were 
entangled  with  so  many  difficulties.  Austria,  which  had 
vacillated  and  delayed — for  she  was  informed  of  the  schemes 
of  the  royalists,  and  hoped  that  if  Louis  XVIII.  should 
ascend  the  throne,  she  would  be  delivered  from  all  the 
burdensome  exactions  of  the  republic — now  saw  that  this 
abortive  attempt  had  removed  the  royalists  still  further 
from  their  object  and  more  flrmly  consolidated  the  repub- 
lic ;  she  was  therefore  inclined  to  push  on  negotiations  more 
speedily,  and  to  show  greater  readiness  to  bring  on  a  flnal 
settlement. 

The  conferences  broken  off  in  Montebello  were  resumed 
in  TJdine.  Thither  came  the  Austrian  and  French  pleni- 
potentiaries. Bonaparte,  however,  felt  that  his  presence 
was  also  necessary,  so  as  not  to  allow  these  conferences  again 
to  remain  in  abeyance.  He  therefore,  accompanied  by  Jose- 
phine, went  to  Passeriano,  a  beautiful  residence  of  the  Doge 
Marini,  not  far  from  Udine,  charmingly  situated  on  the 
shores  of  the  Tagliamento,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  splendid 
park.  But  the  residence  in  Passeriano  was  not  enlivened 
by  the  pleasures,  recreations,  and  festivities  of  Montebello. 
Politics  alone  occupied  Bonaparte's  mind,  and  not  only  the 
peace  negotiations,  but  also  the  Directory  of  the  republic, 


338  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

furnished  him  with  too  many  occasions  for  ill-will  and 
anger. 

Austria,  which  had  added  the  Count  von  Coblentz  to 
her  plenipotentiaries,  adhered  obstinately  to  her  former 
claims;  and  the  Directory,  which  now  felt  stronger  and 
more  secure  by  their  victory  of  the  18th  Fructidor,  were  so 
determined  not  to  accept  these  claims,  that  they  wrote  to 
General  Bonaparte  that  they  would  sooner  resume  hostili- 
ties than  concede  to  "  the  overpowered,  treacherous  Aus- 
tria, sworn  into  all  the  conspiracies  of  the  royalists,  her  un- 
reasonable pretensions." 

But  Bonaparte  knew  better  than  the  proud  lords  of  the 
Directory,  that  France  needed  peace  as  well  as  Austria; 
that  France  lacked  gold,  men,  and  ammunition,  for  the 
vigorous  prosecution  of  the  war.  While,  therefore,  the  Di- 
rectory, enthroned  in  the  Luxemburg,  amid  peace  and  lux- 
ury, desired  a  renewal  of  hostilities,  it  was  the  man  of  bat- 
tles who  desired  peace,  and  who  was  inclined  to  make  to 
Austria  insignificant  concessions  sooner  than  see  the  work 
of  peace  dashed  to  pieces. 

The  sole  recreation  in  Passeriano  consisted  in  the  ban- 
quets which  were  interchanged  between  it  and  Udine,  and 
where  Josephine  found  much  pleasure,  at  least  in  the  con- 
versation of  the  Count  von  Coblentz,  who  could  speak  to  her 
with  spirit  and  grace  of  his  sojourn  in  Petersburg — of  Cath- 
arine the  Great,  at  whose  court  he  had  been  accredited  so 
long  as  ambassador  from  Austria,  and  who  had  even  granted 
him  the  privilege  of  being  present  at  her  private  evening 
circles  at  the  Hermitage. 

Bonaparte  was  still  busy  with  the  glowing  tenderness  of 
a  worshipping  lover,  in  procuring  for  his  Josephine  pleas- 
ures and  recreations,  as  each  favorable  opportunity  pre- 
sented itself. 

The  republic  of  Venice,  now  laboring  under  the  great- 
est anxiety  and  fear  on  account  of  Bonaparte's  anger  at  her 


THE  PEACE  OF  CAMPO  FORMIO.'  339 

perfidy  and  enmity,  had  descended  from  the  height  of  her 
proud  attitude  to  the  most  abject  humility.  Her  solicitude 
for  mere  existence  made  her  so  far  forget  her  dignity,  that 
she  humbly  invited  Bonaparte,  whose  loud  voice  of  anger 
pronounced  only  vengeance  and  destruction,  to  come  and 
receive  in  person  their  homage  and  the  assurance  of  their 
loyalty. 

Bonaparte  refused  this  invitation  as  regarded  his  own 
person,  for  in  his  secret  thoughts  the  ruin  of  Venice  was  a 
settled  matter ;  and  as  the  death-warrant  of  this  republic  of 
terror  and  secret  government  was  already  signed  in  his 
thoughts,  he  could  not  accept  her  feasts  and  her  homage. 
But  he  did  not  wish  before  the  time  to  betray  to  the  repub- 
lic his  own  conclusions,  and  his  refusal  to  accept  their  in- 
vitation ought  not  to  have  the  appearance  of  a  hostile  dem- 
onstration. He  therefore  sent  to  Venice  a  representative, 
who,  in  his  name,  was  to  receive  the  humble  homage  and 
the  assurances  of  friendship  from  the  republic.  This  rep- 
resentative was  Josephine,  and  she  gladly  undertook  tliis 
mission,  without  foreseeing  that  Venice,  which  adorned  it- 
self for  her  sake  with  flowers  and  festivities,  was  but  the 
crowned  victim  at  the  eve  of  the  sacrifice. 

As  Bonaparte  himself  could  not  accompany  his  wife,  he 
sent  with  her  as  an  escort  the  ex-magistrate  Marmont ;  and 
in  his  memoirs  the  latter  relates  with  enthusiasm  the  feasts 
which  the  republic  of  Venice  gave  in  honor  of  the  general 
upon  whom,  as  she  well  knew,  her-^uture  fate  depended. 

"Madame  Bonaparte,"  says  he,  "  was  four  days  in  Ven- 
ice. I  accompanied  her  hither.  Three  days  were  devoted 
to  the  most  splendid  feasts.  On  the  first  day  there  was  a 
regatta,  a  species  of  amusement  which  seems  reserved  only 
to  Venice,  the  queen  of  the  sea.  .  .  .  Six  or  seven  gondolas, 
each  manned  by  one  or  two  oarsmen,  perform  a  race  which 
begins  at  St.  Mark's  Square,  and  ends  at  the  Eialto  bridge. 
These  gondolas  seem  to  fly ;  persons  who  have  never  seen 


340  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

them  can  form  no  idea  of  their  swiftness.  The  beauty  of 
the  representation  consists  especially  in  the  immense  gath- 
ings  of  the  spectators.  The  Italians  are  extremely  fond  of 
this  spectacle ;  they  come  from  great  distances  on  the  con- 
tinent to  see  it ;  there  is  not  in  Venice  an  individual  who 
rushes  not  to  the  Canal  Grande  to  enjoy  the  spectacle ;  and 
during  the  time  of  the  regatta  of  which  I  am  speaking,  the 
wharves  on  the  Canal  Grande  were  covered  with  at  least  one 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  persons,  all  full  of  curiosity. 
More  than  five  hundred  small  and  large  barges,  adorned 
with  flowers,  flags,  and  tapestries,  followed  the  contesting 
gondolas. 

"  The  second  day  we  had  a  sea-excursion  ;  a  banquet 
had  been  prepared  on  the  Lido ;  the  population  followed  in 
barges  adorned  with  wreaths  and  flowers,  and  to  the  sound 
of  music  re-echoing  far  and  near. 

"  The  third  day,  a  night  promenade  took  place.  The 
palace  of  the  doge,  and  the  houses  along  the  Canal  Grande, 
were  illuminated  in  the  most  brilliant  manner,  and  gave 
light  to  hundreds  of  gondolas,  which  also  were  made  lumi- 
nous with  divers-colored  lamps.  After  a  promenade  of  two 
hours,  and  a  splendid  display  of  fireworks  in  the  midst  of 
the  waters,  the  ball  opened  in  the  palace  of  the  doge.  When 
we  think  of  the  means  which  the  situation  of  Venice  offers, 
the  beauty  of  her  architecture,  the  wonderful  animation  of 
the  thousand  gondolas  closely  pressed  together,  causing  the 
impression  of  a  city  in  motion  ;  and  when  we  think  of  the 
great  exertions  which  such  an  occasion  would  naturally  call 
forth,  the  brilliant  imagination  of  this  people  so  remarkable 
for  its  refined  taste,  and  its  burning  lusts  for  pleasure — then 
we  can  form  some  idea  of  the  wondrous  spectacle  presented 
by  Venice  in  those  days.  It  was  no  more  the  mighty  Ven- 
ice, it  was  the  elegant,  the  luxurious  Venice."  * 

•  "  M^moires  du  Due  de  Eaguse,"  vol.  L,  p.  287. 


THE  PEACE  OF  CAMPO  FORMIO.  341 

After  those  days  of  festivities,  Josephine,  the  queen  of 
them,  returned  to  the  quietude  of  Passeriano,  which,  after 
the  sunshine  of  Venice,  must  have  appeared  to  her  still  more 
gloomy  and  sad. 

But  Bonaparte  himself  was  weary  of  all  this  useless  re- 
pose, and  he  resolved  with  a  daring  blow  to  cut  into  shreds 
those  diplomatic  knots  of  so  many  thousand  interwoven 
threads. 

The  instrument  with  which  he  was  to  give  the  blow  was 
not  the  sword — it  was  not  that  which  Alexander  had  used, 
but  it  was  a  cup.  This  cup,  at  a  dejeuner  given  to  him  by 
the  Count  von  Coblentz,  where  was  displayed  the  costly  por- 
celain service  presented  to  him  by  the  Empress  Catharine, 
was  dashed  at  the  feet  of  the  Count  von  Coblentz  by  Bona- 
parte, who,  with  a  thundering  voice,  exclaimed  :  "  In  four- 
teen days  I  will  dash  to  pieces  the  Austrian  monarchy  as  I 
now  break  this  !  " 

The  Count  von  Coblentz,  infuriated  at  this,  was  still 
staring  in  bewilderment  at  the  fragments  of  the  imperial 
gift,  when  Bonaparte  left  the  room,  to  enter  his  carriage. 
"With  a  loud  voice  he  called  to  one  of  the  ofl&cers  of  his 
suite,  and  gave  him  orders  to  go  at  once  to  the  camp  of  the 
Archduke  Charles,  and  to  tell  him,  in  the  name  of  General 
Bonaparte,  that  the  peace  negotiations  were  broken,  and 
that  hostilities  would  be  resumed  next  day. 

But  as  Bonaparte  was  going  toward  his  carriage,  he  met 
the  Marquis  de  Gallo,  who  besought  him  to  re-enter  the 
room ;  he  assured  him  that  it  had  been  resolved  to  accept 
Bonaparte's  ultimatum — that  is  to  say,  to  renounce  all 
claims  to  the  fortress  of  Mantua. 

On  the  next  day  *  the  treaty  of  peace  between  Austria 
and  France  was  signed.  It  had  been  decided  that  the  cere- 
mony of  signing  it  should  take  place  in  the  village  of  Campo 

*  The  17th  of  October,  1797. 


342  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Formio,  which  for  this  reason  was  declared  to  be  neutral 
ground.  It  lay  midway  between  Udine  and  Passeriano;  and 
Bonaparte  sent  his  adjutant,  Marmont,  into  the  village  to 
select  a  house  where  the  ceremony  might  take  place.  But 
there  was  not  a  single  building  which  was  in  any  way  fitted 
to  receive  such  distinguished  guests.  The  Austrian  diplo- 
mats, therefore,  consented  to  come  to  Passeriano  to  ratify 
the  terms  of  peace,  provided,  it  should  be  named  after  the 
neutral  territory  of  Campo  Formio. 

The  Count  von  Coblentz  and  the  Marquis  de  Gallo 
passed  the  whole  day  at  Passeriano,  in  the  company  of  Bona- 
parte and  Josephine.  In  Josephine's  drawing-room  each 
abandoned  himself  to  the  most  cheerful  and  unaffected  con- 
versation, while  at  the  same  time  the  secretaries  of  both  the 
Austrian  and  French  embassies  were  in  the  cabinet  of  the 
French  general,  writing  two  copies  of  the  mutual  agree- 
ments of  peace  which  were  to  be  signed  by  Bonaparte  and 
by  the  Austrian  plenipotentiaries. 

During  the  whole  day  Bonaparte  was  in  high  spirits. 
He  had  reached  his  aim  :  the  strife  was  over ;  diplomatic 
bickerings  were  at  rest ;  the  small  as  well  as  the  great  war 
was  ended ;  peace  was  gained  at  last !  Bonaparte  had,  not 
only  on  the  battle-field,  but  also  at  the  green-table,  been 
victorious ;  he  had  not  only  overcome  Austria,  but  also  the 
Directory.  During  the  whole  day  he  remained  in  the 
drawing-room  with  Josephine  and  his  Austrian  guests,  and 
without  any  affectation  he  took  his  part  in  the  conversation. 
It  was  so  pleasant  to  him  to  be  thus  in  confidential  inter- 
course, that,  as  the  evening  came  on,  he  would  not  allow 
lights  to  be  brought  into  the  drawing-room.  As  if  they 
were  in  a  sociable  family  circle,  in  some  old  remote  castle^ 
they  amused  themselves  in  relating  ghost-stories,  and  here, 
too,  Bonaparte  won  a  victory.  His  story  surpassed  all  others 
in  horrors  and  thrilling  fears,  and  the  dramatic  mode  of  its 
delivery  increased  its  effect.    Josephine  became  excited  as 


THE  PEACE  OP  CAMPO  FORMIO.  343 

if  by  some  living  reality ;  and  while  Bonaparte,  with  an 
affrighted,  trembling  voice,  was  describing  how  the  door 
opened,  how  the  blood-stained  ghost  with  hollow  eyes  en- 
tered, she  screamed  aloud,  and  tremblingly  clung  to  his 
arm. 

At  this  moment  it  was  announced  that  the  secretaries 
had  prepared  the  documents  of  the  treaty,  and  that  noth- 
ing was  wanting  to  make  it  operative  but  the  signatures. 

Bonaparte  laughingly  thanked  his  Josephine  with  a  kiss 
for  the  flattering  effect  produced  by  his  ghost-story,  and 
then  he  hastened  into  his  cabinet  to  attach  his  signature  to 
the  peace  of  Campo  Formic* 

This  peace  gave  to  France  the  left  bank  of  the  Ehine, 
with  the  fortress  of  Mayence ;  it  delivered  Italy  from  the 
rule  of  Austria,  but  it  repaid  Austria  by  giving  her  posses- 
sion of  the  beautiful  city  of  the  lagoons,  Venice,  which 
made  Austria  mistress  of  the  Adriatic  Sea. 

Peace  was  concluded,  and  now  Bonaparte,  with  his 
laurels  and  victories,  could  return  to  Paris ;  now  he  could 
hope  that  he  had  swept  away,  from  the  memory  even  of  his 
adversaries,  the  sad  success  of  the  13th  Vendemiaire,  by  the 
series  of  brilliant  victories  and  conquests  which  he  had  ob- 
tained in  the  name  of  their  common  country. 

Bonaparte  prepared  himself  therefore  to  return  home  to 
France.  But  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  full  of  admiration 
for  the  hero  of  Areola,  and  of  joy  at  a  peace  which  had 
given  him  Venice,  and  which  gave  to  France  little  more 
than  the  captured  cannon,  standards,  and  prisoners,  but  un- 
dying glory,  wished  to  show  himself  thankful  to  Bonaparte. 
He  offered  to  the  general  millions  of  treasure,  and,  still 
more,  a  magnificent  estate,  and  promised  him  the  title  of 
duke. 

But  Bonaparte  refused  alike  the  money  and  the  title. 

•  Lavalette,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  i.,  p.  250. 
23 


344  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINK 

As  a  simple  French  general  he  wished  to  return  to  France ; 
and,  though  in  future  days  he  created  at  his  will  many 
dukes,  he  now  disdained  to  become  a  duke  by  the  grace  of 
the  Emperor  of  Germany.  He  accepted  nothing  out  of  all 
the  offered  presents,  but  six  splendid  gray  horses  which  the 
Emperor  Francis  had  sent  him  from  his  own  stalls.  Bona- 
parte had  won  too  many  victories,  to  need  the  title  of  a 
German  duke  ;  he  had  obtained  a  sufficiently  ample  share  of 
the  war-booty  not  to  need  the  wealth  and  the  treasures  of 
sovereign  gifts.  He  was  no  longer  the  poor  general,  of 
whom  his  enemies  could  say  that  he  had  married  the  widow 
of  General  de  Beauharnais  on  account  of  her  riches  and  of 
her  influence ;  he  now,  besides  fame,  possessed  a  few  millions 
of  francs,  which,  as  a  small  portion  of  his  share  of  the  victo- 
ry's rewards,  he  brought  home  with  him. 

His  work  in  Italy  was  accomplished  ;  and  in  Milan, 
whither  Bonaparte  had  returned  with  Josephine,  they  bade 
each  other  farewell :  they  wished  to  return  to  Paris  by  dif- 
ferent routes. 

Bonaparte  desired  first  to  go  to  Rastadt,  there  to  attend 
the  great  peace  congress  of  Germany  and  France.  Hie 
journey  thither  was  a  complete  triumph.  He  was  every- 
where received  with  enthusiasm ;  everywhere  the  people 
applauded  the  conqueror  of  so  many  battles,  the  hero  who, 
only  twenty-eight  years  old,  had,  by  his  series  of  victories, 
gained  immortality.  His  reception  in  Berne,  especially, 
was  enthusiastic  and  flattering ;  both  sides  of  his  pathway 
were  lined  with  brilliant  equipages,  and  the  beautiful, 
richly  apparelled  ladies  who  sat  in  them  threw  him  kisses, 
crowns  of  flowers  and  bouquets,  shouting,  "  Long  live  the 
peace-maker ! " 

He  travelled  over  Mount  Cenis  to  Rastadt,  where  he 
found  in  the  crowd  of  German  and  French  diplomats  many 
generals  and  learned  men,  who  had  come  there  to  see  the 
man  whom  his  very  enemies  admired,  amongst  whom  he 


DAYS  OF  TRIUMPH.  345 

wfu  aearly  as  popular  as  with  his  friends.  However,  Bona- 
part,  •  remained  but  a  few  days  there ;  for,  after  having  at- 
tended the  opening  of  the  Congress,  he  pursued  his  journey 
to  Paris,  where  he  arrived  on  the  6th  of  December. 

Josephine,  as  we  have  already  said,  did  not  accompany 
her  husband  to  Paris.  Before  leaving  Italy,  she  desired  to 
accomplish  two  objects  of  her  heart.  She  wished  to  see  Home, 
the  everlasting  city  of  fame  and  of  arts,  the  city  of  the  an- 
cient gods,  and  of  the  seat  of  St.  Peter ;  and  she  wished  also 
to  embrace  her  son  Eugene,  who  was  there  as  an  attache  of 
Joseph  Bonaparte,  the  ambassador  of  the  French  republic. 
Wherever  she  went,  she  was  received  with  enthusiasm,  not 
only  as  the  wife  of  Italy's  deliverer,  but  also  on  account  of 
her  personal  merits.  Through  her  affability,  her  amiable- 
ness,  and  her  sweet  disposition,  which  shunned  every  haugh- 
ty exaltation,  and  yet  was  never  lacking  in  dignity  or  in  re- 
serve— through  the  goodness  of  her  heart,  which  was  ever 
ready  to  help  the  unfortunate — through  all  those  exquisite 
and  praiseworthy  qualities  which  adorned  and  beautified  her, 
she  had  won  the  love  and  admiration  of  all  Italy ;  and  long 
afterward,  when  the  deliverer  of  Italy  had  become  her  lord 
and  her  oppressor,  when  she  had  no  longer  cause  to  love 
Bonaparte,  but  only  to  curse  him,  Italy  preserved  for  Jose- 
phine a  n^smory  full  of  admiration  and  love. 


CHAPTEK  XXIX. 

DATS   OF  TRIUMPH. 

On  the  5th  of  December,  1797,  Bonaparte  returned  to 
'Paris;  and,  a  few  days  after,  Josephine  arrived  also.  In 
her  little  hotel,  in  the  Street  Chautereine,  where  she  had 
passed  so  many  bright  and  happy  days,  she  hoped,  after  so 


346  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

many  storms  and  hardships,  to  enjoy  again  new  and  cheer- 
ful sunny  days  of  domestic  enjoyments — she  hoped  to  rest 
from  all  those  triumphs  which  had  accompanied  at  each 
step  both  her  and  her  husband. 

This  hope,  however,  was  not  to  be  realized,  for  greater 
triumphs  still  than  those  she  had  enjoyed  in  Italy  awaited 
Bonaparte  in  Paris.  The  days  of  quietude,  and  the  pleas- 
ures of  home,  which  Josephine  so  much  loved,  and  which 
.she  so  well  understood  how  to  embellish  with  friendships 
and  joys,  were  now  forever  past  away.  Placed  at  the  side 
of  a  hero  whose  fame  already  filled  all  Europe,  she  could 
no  longer  calculate  upon  living  in  modest  retirement,  as 
she  would  have  wished  to  do :  it  was  her  lot  to  share  his 
burden  of  glory,  as  she  also  was  illumined  by  its  beams. 

From  this  moment  nothing  of  former  days  remained ; 
all  was  changed,  all  was  altered  by  Bonaparte's  laurels  and 
victories.  He  was  no  more  the  servant  of  the  republic,  he 
was  nearly  its  master ;  he  had  not  only  defeated  Austria  in 
Italy,  but  he  had  also  defeated  in  France  the  Directory, 
which  had  sent  him  as  its  general  to  Italy,  and  which  now 
saw  him  return  home  as  the  master  of  the  five  monarchs  of 
France. 

Every  thing  now,  as  already  said,  assumed  a  new  shape : 
even  the  house  in  which  they  lived,  the  street  in  which 
this  house  stood,  had  to  be  changed.  Hitherto  this  street 
had  been  called  "  Rue  Chautereine ; "  since  Bonaparte's  re- 
turn the  municipality  of  Paris  gave  it  the  name  "  Rue  de  la 
Victoire,"  and  now  to  this  Street  of  Victory  the  people  of 
Paris  streamed  forth  to  see  the  conqueror ;  to  stand  there 
patiently  for  hours  before  the  little  hotel,  and  watch  for  the 
moment  when  at  one  of  the  windows  the  pale  countenance 
of  Bonaparte,  with  his  long,  smooth  hair,  might  appear. 

Even  the  little  hotel  was  to  be  altered.  Bonaparte — 
who,  in  earlier  days,  had  described,  as  his  dream  of  happi- 
ness, the  possession  of  a  house,  of  a  cabriolet,  and  to  have  at 


DAYS  OP  TRIUMPH.  347 

his  table  the  company  of  a  few  friends,  with  his  Josephine 
— now  found  that  the  little  house  in  the  Kue  de  la  Victoire 
was  too  small  for  him ;  that  it  must  be  altered  even  as  the 
street  had  been.  The  modest  and  tasteful  arrangements 
which  had  sufficed  the  Widow  Josephine  de  Beauharnais, 
appeared  now  to  her  young  husband  as  insufficient;  the 
little  saloon,  in  which  at  one  time  he  had  felt  so  happy  at 
the  side  of  the  viscountess,  was  no  longer  suited  to  his  actual 
wants.  Large  reception-rooms  and  vestibules  were  needed, 
magnificent  furniture  was  necessary,  for  the  residence  of  the 
conqueror  of  Italy,  in  the  Eue  de  la  Victoire. 

Architects  were  engaged  to  enlarge  and  transform  the 
small  house  into  a  large  hotel,  and  it  was  left  to  Josephine's 
taste  to  convert  the  hitherto  elegant  private  dwelling  into  a 
magnificent  residence  for  the  renowned  general  who  had  to 
be  daily  in  readiness  to  receive  official  visits,  delegations  of 
welcome  from  the  authorities,  and  the  institutions  of  Paris, 
and  from  the  other  cities  of  France. 

For  France  was  desirous  to  pay  her  homage  to  the  hero 
of  Areola,  and  to  celebrate  his  genius — to  wish  him  prosper- 
ity, and  to  applaud  him.  The  Directory  had  to  adapt  them- 
selves to  the  universal  sentiment ;  to  pay  their  respects  to 
the  general  with  a  cheerful  mien  and  with  friendly  alacrity, 
while  at  heart  they  looked  on  him  with  vexation  and  envy. 
Bonaparte's  popularity  filled  them  with  anxiety  and  fearful 
misgivings. 

But  it  was  necessary  to  submit  to  this ;  the  public  senti- 
ment required  those  festivities  in  honor  of  the  general  of 
the  republic,  and  the  five  directors  in  the  Luxemburg  had 
no  longer  the  power  to  guillotine  the  public  sentiment,  the 
true  king  of  Paris,  as  once  they  had  guillotined  King  Louis. 

The  directors,  therefore,  inaugurated  brilliant  festivities ; 
they  received  the  conqueror  of  Italy  in  the  Luxemburg  with 
great  demonstrations  of  solemnity,  in  which  the  Parisians 
took  a  part.    In  the  immense  court  in  front  of  the  resi- 


348  THE   EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

dence  of  the  directors  this  celebration  took  place.  In  the 
midst  of  the  open  place  a  lofty  platform  was  erected ;  it 
was  the  country's  altar,  on  which  the  gigantic  statues  of 
Freedom,  Equality,  and  of  Peace,  were  lifted  up.  Around 
this  altar  was  a  second  platform,  with  seats  for  the  five  hun- 
dred, the  deputies,  and  the  authorities  ;  the  standards  con- 
quered in  the  Italian  war  formed  over  the  seats  of  the  five 
directors  a  sort  of  canopy :  they  were,  however,  to  them  as 
the  sword  of  Damocles,  ready  to  fall  upon  them  at  any  mo- 
ment and  destroy  them. 

The  directors,  dressed  in  brilliant  antique  robes,  created 
no  impression,  notwithstanding  their  theatrical  splendor,  in 
comparison  with  the  sensation  produced  by  the  simple,  un- 
affected appearance  of  General  Bonaparte.  He  wore  the 
plain  green  uniform  which  he  had  worn  at  Areola  and  Lodi ; 
his  suite  was  limited  to  a  few  officers  only,  who,  like  himself, 
appeared  in  their  ordinary  uniforms,  which  they  had  worn 
on  the  battle-field.  The  two  generals,  Andreossy  and  Jou- 
bert,  carried  the  standards  which  the  Legislative  Assembly, 
two  years  before,  had  presented  to  the  army  of  Italy,  and 
upon  which  could  now  be  read  the  names  of  sixty-seven  bat- 
tles won. 

At  one  of  the  windows  of  the  palace  of  the  Luxemburg, 
Josephine  watched  this  strange  celebration,  the  splendors 
of  which  made  her  heart  beat  with  delight,  and  filled  her 
eyes  with  tears  of  joy.  Near  her  was  her  daughter  Hor- 
tense,  lately  withdrawn  from  Madame  Campan's  institution, 
to  be  with  her  mother,  who,  full  of  ecstasy  and  pride,  gazed 
at  the  charming  maiden  at  her  side,  just  blooming  into  a 
young  lady ;  and  then  beyond,  at  that  pale  young  man  with 
pensive  eyes  standing  near  yonder  altar,  and  before  whom 
all  the  authorities  of  Paris  bowed — who  was  her  husband, 
her  Bonaparte,  everywhere  conqueror !  Before  her  only  was 
he  the  conquered !  She  listened  with  a  happy  smile  to  the 
long  speech  with  which  Tallevrand  saluted  Bonauarte  in 


DAYS  OP  TRIUMPH.  349 

the  name  of  his  country ;  she  heard  how  Barras,  conceal- 
ing within  himself  his  jealonsy  and  his  envy,  welcomed  him ; 
how  with  admiration  he  praised  him ;  how  he  said  that  Na- 
ture, in  one  of  her  most  exalted  and  greatest  moments,  had 
resolved  to  produce  a  masterpiece,  and  had  given  to  the 
wondering  world  Bonaparte  I 

And  then,  after  this  affected  harangue,  Josephine  saw 
how  Barras,  with  tears  of  emotion,  embraced  Bonaparte,  and 
how  the  other  Directors  of  France  followed  his  example.  A 
slight  sarcastic  smile  for  a  moment  played  on  Josephine's 
lips,  for  she  well  knew  how  little  this  friendship  and  this 
love  of  the  Directory  were  to  be  trusted,  how  little  sincerity 
was  contained  in  the  sentiments  which  they  so  publicly 
manifested  toward  the  conqueror. 

With  love's  anxiety  and  a  woman's  instinct,  she  watched 
over  her  hero ;  she  was  ever  busy  to  track  out  the  meander- 
ing paths  of  his  foes,  to  destroy  the  nets  wherein  they 
wished  to  entangle  his  feet.  She  had  even  braved  the  jeal- 
ous wrath  of  Bonaparte  when  it  was  necessary  to  ferret  out 
some  intrigue  of  the  Directory.  The  special  spy,  whom 
Barras  had  sent  to  Italy  to  watch  the  movements  of  Bona- 
parte, and  to  give  him  early  reports  of  every  word,  Botot, 
had  been  received  by  Josephine  with  a  friendly  smile  and 
with  great  attention  ;  she  manifested  toward  him  a  confiding 
friendship,  and  thus  succeeded  in  discovering  his  secret,  and 
behind  the  seeming  friend  to  unveil  the  cunning  spy  of  Bo- 
naparte's enemies.  She  could  therefore  meet  Bonaparte's 
anger  with  serene  brow  and  pure  conscience ;  and  when  he 
accused  her  of  frivolity  and  unfaithfulness,  she  justified  her- 
self before  him  by  unveiling  the  secret  schemes  and  machi- 
nations of  his  foes.  And  these  foes  were  chiefly  the  five  di- 
rectors. He  therefore  knew  very  well  what  he  was  to  expect 
from  the  embraces,  the  tears,  the  kisses  of  Barras ;  and  the 
flattering  words  which  he  spoke  to  him  in  the  presence  of  the 
Parisians  made  no  impression  whatever  on  Bonaparte's  heart. 


^50  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

But  the  applause  with  which  the  people  of  Parig  re- 
ceived him  was  not  deceitful,  like  that  of  the  Directory ;  the 
respect  they  paid  him  was  not  forced,  and  their  applause 
therefore  filled  the  hearts  of  Josephine  and  Bonaparte  with 
joy.  Wherever  he  appeared,  he  was  greeted  with  loud  dem- 
onstrations of  joy ;  the  poets  praised  him  in  their  songs,  the 
musicians  sang  hymns  in  his  honor,  and  the  men  of  science 
brought  to  him  proofs  of  their  esteem.  The  In^stitute  of 
Sciences  named  him  one  of  their  members  in  the  place  of 
Oamot ;  the  painters  and  architects  paid  him  homage  with 
their  works.  The  renowned  painter  David  requested  the 
honor  of  taking  Bonaparte's  portrait,  and  the  general  ac> 
ceded  to  his  wishes  because  Josephine  had  promised  that 
the  painter's  request  should  be  granted.  David  desired  to 
paint  him  on  horseback  near  the  bridge  of  Lodi  or  of  Ar- 
eola, and  he  placed  before  him  a  sketch  he  had  made  for 
this  picture.     But  Bonaparte  rejected  it. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  was  not  there  alone,  I  conquered 
only  with  the  whole  army.  Place  me  there,  quiet  and  calm, 
seated  upon  a  fiery  horse." 

What  did  Bonaparte  mean  by  this  "  fiery  horse  "  ?  Are 
his  words  to  be  understood  in  all  their  beauty  and  sim- 
plicity ?  or  did  he,  by  the  restless  horse,  which  he  so  calmly 
reins  in,  already  think  of  the  republic  which,  under  the 
guidance  of  his  masterly  hand,  was  one  day  to  be  converted 
into  an  empire  ?  Who  could  read  the  depths  of  this  man's 
heart,  which  screened  itself  so  carefully,  and  whose  secrets 
in  regard  to  the  future  he  dared  not  divulge  even  to  his  be- 
loved Josephine  ? 

The  first  few  weeks  after  their  return  from  Italy  were 
passed  away  amid  festivities  and  demonstrations  of  respect. 
Josephine  abandoned  herself  to  this  pomp  with  a  high 
spirit,  and  with  a  deep  love  for  enjoyment.  Her  whole  be- 
ing was  thoroughly  interpenetrated  with  the  warmth  of  this 
new  sun,  which  had  risen  over  her  in  so  wondrous  a  light. 


DAYS  OF  TRIUMPH.  351 

and  surrounded  her  with  its  lustrous  rays.  All  these  fes- 
tivities, banquets,  representations  at  the  grand  opera,  and 
at  the  Thedtre  FranQais^  these  public  ovations  which  ac- 
companied Bonaparte  at  every  step,  at  every  promenade,  at 
every  attendance  at  the  theatre, — all  these  marks  of  honor 
elated  Josephine,  filling  her  with  an  enthusiastic  pride  for 
the  hero,  the  man  whom  she  now  loved  with  all  the  excita- 
bility of  a  woman's  heart,  and  over  whom  fame  rested  as  a 
halo,  and  which  made  him  appear  to  Josephine  still  greater 
and  more  exalted.  To  him  alone  now  belonged  her  whole 
heart  and  being ;  and  now  for  the  first  time  she  experienced 
those  nervous  spasms  of  jealousy  which  at  a  later  date  were 
to  mix  so  many  bitter  drops  of  gall  in  the  golden  cup  of  her 
greatness. 

At  the  ovations,  the  tokens  of  aflEection  on  the  part  of 
gentlemen  delighted  her,  but  she  had  no  thanks  for  the 
ladies  when,  with  their  enthusiasm,  brilliant  eyes,  bewitch- 
ing smiles,  and  flattering  words,  they  endeavored  to  mani- 
fest their  adoration  and  gratitude  to  the  hero  of  Italy ;  she 
could  barely  keep  back  her  tears  when,  at  the  reception 
which  Talleyrand,  the  minister  of  foreign  affairs,  gave  to 
Bonaparte,  the  beautiful  songstress  Grassini  appeared,  and, 
with  her  entrancing  voice,  sang  the  fame  of  the  conqueror 
who  had  bound  captive  to  his  triumphal  car,  as  the  most 
precious  booty,  the  proud  songstress  herself. 

The  Directory,  however,  would  have  gladly  allowed  the 
ladies  to  take  part  in  this  enthusiasm  if  the  men  had  taken 
no  share  in  it ;  but  the  admiration  which  they  had  every- 
where manifested  so  strongly  for  Bonaparte,  had  completely 
overshadowed  their  own  greatness  and  importance.  They 
were  no  longer  the  monarchs  of  France — Bonaparte  alone 
seemed  to  be  its  ruler — and  their  envious  jealousy  told  them 
that  it  would  require  but  a  sign  from  his  hand  to  impart  to 
the  French  government  a  new  form,  to  disenthroiie  the  five 
directors,  and  to  place  himself  in  their  position.     The  sole 


852  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE, 

aim  was,  therefore,  to  remove  Bonaparte  as  soon  as  practi- 
cable from  Paris,  and  if  possible  from  France,  so  as  to  check 
his  popularity,  and  to  oppose  his  ever-growing  power. 

Bonaparte  was  but  little  inclined  to  meet  these  views  of 
the  Directory,  and  to  accept  the  propositions  made  to  him. 
He  declined  at  once  to  go  to  Kastadt,  there  to  attend  to  the 
discussions  of  the  congress,  with  as  much  resolution  as  he 
had  refused  to  go  to  Eome  to  punish  the  papal  government 
for  the  enmity  it  had  shown  to  France.  He  left  it  to  dip- 
lomats to  prattle  in  Kastadt  over  the  green-table,  and  to 
General  Berthier  to  punish  the  papal  government,  and  to 
drive  Pius  out  of  the  Eternal  City,  the  seat  of  St.  Peter,  and 
erect  there  the  altar  of  the  republic  of  Rome. 

There  were  greater  and  loftier  aims  which  Bonaparte 
now  sought — and  fame,  which  he  loved  quite  as  much  as 
Josephine  did,  and  was  soon  to  love  even  more,  was  entic- 
ing him  on  to  paths  yet  untrodden,  where  no  hero  of  past 
ages  had  sought  for  it. 

In  Egypt,  near  the  pyramids  of  four  thousand  years,  he 
desired  to  gather  fresh  laurels ;  from  thence  the  astonished 
world  was  to  hear  the  wondrous  recitals  of  his  victories. 
His  lively  fancy  already  imagined  his  name  written  on  those 
gigantic  monuments  of  past  ages,  the  only  earthly  creations 
which  have  in  themselves  nearly  the  character  of  immor- 
tality. With  his  mighty  deeds  he  wished  to  surpass  all  the 
heroes  of  modern  times;  he  desired  to  rival  Ca?sar  and 
Alexander. 

Caesar  had  won  fifty  battles,  Bonaparte  wanted  to  win  a 
hundred.  Alexander  liad  gone  from  Macedonia  to  the  tem- 
ple of  Jupiter  Animon,  Bonaparte  wished  to  leave  Paris  to 
obtain  victories  at  the  cataracts  of  the  Nile. 

The  bitterness  which  existed  between  the  Directory  and 
Bonaparte  was  increasing  more  and  more.  He  no  longer 
spoke  to  the  five  monarchs  as  an  obedient,  submissive  sou 
of  the  republic;  he  spoke  as  their  lord  and  muster;  he 


DAYS  OP  TRIUMPH.  353 

threatened  when  his  will  was  not  obeyed;  he  was  wroth 
when  he  met  with  opposition.  And  the  Directory  had  not 
the  courage  to  reproach  him  for  his  undutiful  conduct,  or 
to  enter  the  lists  with  him  to  dispute  for  the  sovereignty, 
for  they  well  knew  that  public  sentiment  would  declare 
itself  in  his  favor,  that  Paris  would  side  with  the  general 
if  matters  were  to  come  to  a  crisis  between  them.  It  was 
therefore  better  and  wiser  to  avoid  this  strife,  and,  under 
some  good  pretext,  remove  Bonaparte  and  open  to  him  some 
distant  pathway  to  fame,  so  as  to  be  rid  of  him. 

Egypt  was  far  enough  from  Paris  to  give  to  the  Di- 
rectory guaranties  of  security,  and  it  fell  in  with  Bona- 
parte's plans.  It  was  resolved  therefore  to  send  an  expe- 
dition to  Egypt,  and  he  was  appointed  its  commander-in- 
chief. 

Bonaparte  had  directed  his  eyes  to  the  East  when  in 
Passeriano  he  was  making  peace  with  Austria.  In  Egypt 
were  the  battle-fields  which  were  to  surround  his  name 
with  a  fresh  halo  of  glory. 

Josephine  learned  this  resolution  of  Bonaparte  with 
fear  and  anxiety,  but  she  dared  not  betray  this  to  any  one, 
since  this  expedition  was  to  remain  a  secret  to  all  the  world. 
Only  in  private  could  her  tears  flow,  only  before  Bonaparte 
could  she  complain.  Once,  as  she  encircled  him  convul- 
sively with  her  arms,  her  mind  full  of  misgivings  and  her 
eyes  of  tears-  she  asked  him  how  many  years  he  thought  oi 
remaining  in  Egypt. 

She  had  put  this  question  only  in  a  jesting  form.  He 
took  it  in  full  earnestness,  and  answered : 

"  Either  a  few  months  or  six  years.  All  depends  upon 
circumstances.  I  must  win  Egypt  to  civilization.  I  will 
gather  there  artists,  learned  men,  mechanics  of  all  trades, 
even  women — dancers,  songstresses,  and  actresses.  I  want 
to  mould  Egypt  into  a  second  France.  One  can  do  a 
great  deal  in  six  years.     I  am  now  twenty-nine  years  old,  I 


854  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Bhall  be  thirty-five  when  I  return — that  is  not  old.  But  1 
shall  want  more  than  six  years  if  I  go  to  India."  * 

Josephine  cried  aloud  with  anguish  and  horror,  and,  em- 
bracing him  in  her  arms,  implored  him  with  all  the  delicate 
tenderness  of  her  anxious  affection  not  to  thrust  her  aside, 
but  to  allow  her  to  accompany  him  to  Egypt. 

But  Bonaparte  refused,  and  this  time  her  tears,  which 
he  had  never  before  denied,  were  fruitless.  He  felt  that 
Josephine's  presence  would  damp  his  ardent  courage,  retard 
his  onward  march,  and  that  he  would  not  have  the  neces- 
sary fearless  energy  to  incur  risks  and  perils  if  Josephine 
were  to  be  threatened  by  their  consequences.  He  could  not 
expose  her  to  the  privations  and  restless  wanderings  of  a 
campaign,  and  his  burning  love  for  her  was  too  real  for  him 
to  yield  to  her  wishes. 

Josephine,  meanwhile,  was  not  silenced  by  his  refusal ; 
she  persevered  in  her  supplications,  and  Bonaparte,  at  last 
softened  by  her  prayers,  was  obliged  to  come  to  terms.  It 
was  decided  that  Josephine  should  follow  him  to  Egypt, 
that  he  would  select  a  place  of  residence  and  prepare  every 
thing  for  her  reception  there,  so  that  she  might  without 
danger  or  too  much  inconvenience  undertake  the  journey. 

But  before  commencing  such  an  undertaking,  Jose- 
phine*s  health  needed  recruiting;  she  was  to  go  to  the 
baths  of  Plombi^res,  and  Bonaparte  was  to  hold  a  ship  in 
readiness  in  Toulon  to  bring  her  to  Egypt. 

The  ship  which  was  chosen  to  transport  her  was  the  Po- 
mona, the  same  in  which,  when  only  sixteen  years  old,  she 
had  come  from  Martinique  to  France.  Then  she  had  gone 
forth  to  an  unknown  world  and  to  an  unknown  husband ; 
now  she  was  on  the  same  ship  to  undertake  a  journey  to  an 
unknown  world,  but  it  was  a  beloved  husband  whom  she 
was  going  to  meet,  and  love  gave  her  the  strength  to  do  so. 

•  Bourrienne,  vol.  ii.,  p.  49. 


DAYS  OP  TRIUMPH.  355 

Josephine,  full  of  the  sweetest  confidence  that  she  was 
soon  to  follow  Bonaparte,  and  hereafter  to  see  him  again, 
accompanied  him  to  Toulon.  She  had  the  strength  to  re- 
press her  tears  as  she  bade  him  farewell,  and  to  smile  as  he 
entreated  her  to  keep  her  heart  faithful  to  him. 

She  showed  herself  at  this  separation  stronger  than 
Bonaparte  himself,  for  while  her  eyes  were  bright  with  joy- 
ous love,  his  were  sad  and  obscured  by  tears. 

The  difference  was  this :  Bonaparte  knew  that  he  was 
bidding  farewell  to  Josephine  for  long  years ;  she  trusted 
that  in  a  few  months  she  would  be  reunited  to  him. 

Bonaparte  imprinted  a  last  kiss  on  the  lips  of  Jose- 
phine. She  embraced  him  tenderly  in  her  arms,  and,  to 
shield  herself  against  the  deep  anguish  of  the  separation, 
she  cried  aloud : 

"  In  three  months  we  meet  again  !  The  Pomona,  which 
brought  me  to  France,  will  bear  me  back  to  my  hero,  to  my 
Achilles !  In  three  months  I  shall  be  with  you  again.  You 
have  often  called  me  the  star  of  yoar  fortune.  How  could 
this  star  abandon  you  when  you  are  going  to  fight  against 
your  foes  ?  " 

He  gazed  at  her  with  a  look  at  once  full  of  deep  love 
and  sorrow  : 

"  Josephine,"  said  he,  solemnly,  "  my  enemies  are  neither 
in  Asia  nor  in  Africa,  but  they  are  all  in  France.  I  leave 
you  behind  me  in  their  midst,  for  you  to  watch  them,  and 
to  unravel  their  schemes.  Think  of  this,  and  be  my  strong 
and  prudent  wife."  * 

Deeply  moved,  he  turned  away,  and  hastened  from  her 
to  the  boat  that  was  to  bear  him  to  the  flag-ship,  which  was 
waiting  only  for  the  commanding  general  to  come  aboard 
before  weighing  anchor. 

•  Bonaparte's  words. — See  Le  Normand,  vol.  i.,  p.  278. 


BOOK  in. 

THE  EMPRESS  AND   THE  DIVORCED. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

PL0MBIERE8   AND    MALMAISON. 

While  Bonaparte  with  the  French  fleet  was  sailing  to- 
ward the  East,  there,  in  the  wide  valley  of  the  Nile,  to  win  a 
new  fame,  Josephine  started  for  Plombieres,  where  she  had 
requested  her  daughter  Hortense  to  meet  her.  The  splendid 
scenery  and  pleasant  quietude  of  Plombieres  offered  at  least 
some  comfort  and  satisfaction  to  Josephine,  whose  heart 
was  not  yet  healed  from  the  anguish  of  separation.  Her 
greatest  consolation  was  the  thought  that  in  a  few  months 
she  would  go  to  her  husband ;  that  the  Pomona  would  bear 
her  to  him  who  now  possessed  her  whole  soul,  and  sur- 
rounded her  whole  being  with  an  enchantment  which  was 
to  cease  only  with  her  life. 

She  counted  the  days,  the  weeks,  which  separat-ed  her 
from  the  wished-for  journey;  she  waited  with  impatient 
longing  for  the  news  that  the  Pomona,  which  needed  a  few 
repairs,  was  ready  and  all  prepared  for  the  distant  but  wel- 
come voyage. 

Her  sole  recreation  consisted  in  the  company  of,  and  in 
the  cordial  fellowship  with  Hortense,  now  grown  up  a  young 
lady,  and  the  companionship  of  a  few  intimate  ladies  who 
had  followed  her  to  Plombieres.  Surrounded  by  these,  she 
either  sat  in  her  drawing-room,  busy  with  some  manual 
labor,  or  else,  followed  by  a  single  servant,  she  and  Hortense 


PLOMBliiRES  AND  MALMAISON.  357 

made  long  walks  in  the  wonderfully  romantic  vicinity  of 
Plombi^res. 

One  morning  she  was  in  the  drawing-room  with  her 
friends,  working  with  the  needle,  conversing,  and  finding 
recreation  in  stepping  through  the  wide-open  folding-doors 
upon  the  balcony,  from  which  a  most  enchanting  view  could 
be  had  of  tho  lovely  valley,  and  the  mountains  which  stood 
round  about  it.  While  there,  busily  embroidering  a  rose, 
one  of  her  friends,  who  had  gone  to  the  balcony,  called  her 
to  come  quickly  to  admire  a  remarkably  small  greyhound 
which  was  passing  down  the  street.  Josephine,  whose  love 
for  dogs  had  made  Napoleon  pass  many  a  restless  hour, 
hastened  to  obey  her  friend's  call,  and  went  out  upon  the 
balcony,  whither  the  rest  of  the  ladies  followed  her,  all  curi- 
ous to  see  the  greyhound  which  had  set  Madame  de  Cambis 
into  such  an  excitement.  But  the  weight  of  these  six  ladies, 
gathered  close  together  on  the  balcony,  was  too  heavy  for 
the  plank  and  joist- work  loosely  put  together.  A  fearful 
crash  was  heard ;  and  as  Hortense,  who  had  remained  in 
the  drawing-room,  busy  with  her  painting,  looked  out,  she 
saw  neither  the  ladies  nor  the  balcony.  All  had  disap- 
peared— nothing  but  a  cloud  of  dust  arose  from  the  street, 
amidst  a  confusion  of  cries  of  distress,  of  shouts  for  help, 
and  groans  of  pain. 

The  balcony,  with  the  ladies,  had  been  precipitated  into 
the  street,  and  all  those  who  were  on  it  were  more  or  less 
severely  injured.  Josephine  recognized  it  as  a  providen- 
tial protection  that  she  had  not  paid  with  broken  limbs, 
like  her  friends,  for  the  curiosity  of  seeing  the  beautiful 
little  greyhound,  but  had  only  received  violent  contusions 
and  sprained  joints.  For  weeks  she  had  to  suffer  from 
the  consequences  of  this  fall,  and  was  confined  to  her  bed, 
not  being  able  to  lift  herself  up,  nor  with  her  bruised, 
swollen  hands  to  bring  the  food  to  her  mouth  during 
this  time.     Hortense  had  to  wait  upon  her  mother  as  she 


358  '^HE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

had  waited  upon  her  when  she  was  only  a  small,  helpless 
child. 

While  Josephine  was  thus  for  these  weeks  suffering,  the 
Pomona,  fully  equipped,  was  sent  to  sea,  for  she  was  in- 
trusted with  important  instructions  for  the  commanding 
general  Bonaparte,  and  could  not  possibly  be  detained  for 
Josephine's  recovery.  She  received  this  news  with  bitter 
tears,  and  resolutely  declared  that  no  sooner  should  she  be 
recovered  than  she  would  sail  for  Egypt  in  any  kind  of 
vessel ;  that  she  was  firmly  decided  to  follow  her  husband 
and  share  his  dangers. 

She  had,  however,  twice  received  letters  from  Bona- 
parte. In  the  first  of  these  he  had,  full  of  tender  solici- 
tude, entreated  her  not  to  undertake  the  fatiguing  and 
dangerous  voyage;  in  the  second  he  had  commanded  her 
with  all  the  earnestness  of  love  to  give  up  the  enterprise, 
and  requested  as  a  proof  of  her  affection  and  faithfulness, 
that  she  would  listen  to  reason,  remain  in  Paris,  and  watch 
over  his  interests,  and  be  his  guardian  angel. 

Josephine  read  this  last  letter  with  a  sorrowful  smile,  and, 
as  she  handed  it  to  her  friend  Madame  de  Chateau-Renaud, 
she  said,  sighing : 

"  The  days  of  happiness  are  over.  While  in  Italy,  Bona- 
parte required  that  I  should  bid  defiance  to  all  dangers,  so 
as  to  be  at  his  side,  for  his  letters  then  demanded  my  pres- 
ence. Now  he  orders  me  to  avoid  dangers,  and  to  remain 
quietly  at  home.'* 

"  But  it  is  out  of  pure  love  he  does  this ! "  exclaimed 
her  friend.  "  See  how  affectionate  and  how  tender  his  letter 
is !  Certainly  no  man  can  love  his  wife  more  warmly  than 
Bonaparte  loves  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  sighed  Josephine, "  he  loves  me  yet,  but  I  am 
no  longer  absolutely  necessary — he  can  live  without  me ; 
once  love  ruled  over  his  reason,  now  his  reason  rules  over 
his  love.     It  will  be  as  I  fear :  I  shall  day  by  day  love  him 


PLOMBlfiRES  AND  MALMAISON.  359 

more  fondly  and  more  passionately,  for  he  is  my  last  love, 
but  he  will  every  day  love  me  less,  for  perhaps  I  am  his 
first  love,  and  his  heart  will  be  young  long  after  he  reads 
upon  my  face  that  I  am  six  years  older  than  he." 

However,  she  conformed  to  the  wishes  of  her  husband ; 
she  was  resigned,  and  gave  up  the  thought  of  going  to 
Egypt.  At  first  she  did  it  only  with  tears,  but  soon  after 
there  came  news  which  made  her  accept  her  husband's 
wishes  as  the  commands  of  Fate. 

The  Pomona,  the  vessel  which  had  once  brought  her 
from  Martinique  to  France,  and  on  board  of  which  she  was 
to  go  to  Egypt,  had  been  captured  by  an  English  man-of- 
war,  and  all  her  passengers  sent  as  prisoners  to  England. 

The  fall  from  the  balcony  had  therefore  saved  Jose- 
phine from  being  carried  into  captivity  to  England.  To 
this  fall  she  owed  her  liberty!  With  all  the  levity  and 
superstition  of  a  Creole,  Josephine  looked  upon  this  fortu- 
nate mishap  as  a  warning  from  Fate,  and  it  seemed  to  her 
as  if  this  had  taken  place  to  hinder  her  journey  to  Egypt. 
She  therefore  dried  her  tears  and  submitted  to  the  orders 
alike  of  Fate  and  of  her  husband. 

She  remained  in  France,  and  accepted  her  mission  to 
watch,  as  a  true  friend  and  beloved  one,  over  the  interests  of 
her  husband,  to  observe  his  friends  and  foes,  and  to  send  him 
news  of  every  thing  which  it  was  important  for  him  to  know. 

Once  her  fate  decided,  and  she  resolved  to  remain  in 
France,  she  determined  to  make  her  life  comfortable  and 
pleasant ;  she  wished  to  prepare  for  herself  and  her  children 
a  joyous  existence,  and  procure  also  for  her  returning  hus- 
band a  gift  which  she  knew  would  meet  a  long-cherished 
wish  of  his. 

She  bought  a  residence,  situated  not  far  from  Paris,  the 
Castle  Malmaison,  if  the  name  of  castle  can  be  properly 
given  to  a  pretty,  tastefully-built  country  residence,  toler- 
ably large  and  plain,  but  surrounded  by  a  beautiful  park. 
24 


S60  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Their  wishes  and  wants  were  yet  simple,  and  the  country 
residence,  Malmaison,  was  amply  sufficient  to  receive  the 
family  and  the  friends  of  General  Bonaparte  and  his  wife ; 
it  became  too  small  and  too  narrow  only  when  it  had  to 
accommodate  the  Emperor  Napoleon,  the  empress,  and 
their  court-attendants  and  suite. 

But  if  the  Castle  Malmaison  was  not  large,  the  park 
which  surrounded  it  was  all  the  larger  and  handsomer,  and, 
with  its  shady  walks,  its  wondrous  beds  of  flowers,  its  ma- 
jestic avenues,  its  splendid  groves  and  lawns,  it  had  for 
Josephine  pleasures  and  joys  ever  new  and  fresh;  and  it 
furnished  her,  moreover,  with  the  welcome  opportunity  of 
following  the  inclinations  of  her  youth  amidst  the  flowers, 
birds,  trees,  and  plants. 

Josephine  loved  botany ;  it  was  natural  that  she  should 
endeavor  to  collect  together  in  Malmaison  the  most  beauti- 
ful plants  and  flowers,  and  to  arrange  them  in  this  her  little 
earthly  paradise.  She  enlisted  the  most  able  architects  and 
the  most  skilful  gardeners,  and,  under  their  direction,  with 
the  hands  of  hundreds  of  workmen,  there  soon  arose  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  hot-houses,  wherein  all  these  glories  of 
earth,  splendid  flowers,  and  fruits  of  distant  climes,  would 
find  a  home ! 

Josephine  herself,  with  her  fine  taste  and  her  deep  knowl- 
edge of  botany,  directed  all  these  arrangements  and  im- 
provements ;  the  builders  as  well  as  the  gardeners  had  to 
submit  their  plans  for  her  approbation,  and  it  was  not  sel- 
dom that  her  keen,  practised  eye  discovered  in  them  defects 
which  her  ingenuity  at  once  found  means  to  correct. 

In  Malmaison,  Josephine  created  around  her  a  new 
world,  a  quiet  paradise  of  happiness,  where  she  could  dream, 
with  blissful  cheerfulness  and  with 'all  the  youthful  energy 
of  her  heart,  of  a  peaceful  future,  of  delightful  content- 
ment, in  the  quiet  enjoyment  of  Nature  and  of  home. 

But  the  old  world  outside  did  not  cease  its  own  march ; 


PLOMBlfeRES  AND  MALMAISON.  361 

it  fought  its  battles,  spun  its  intrigues,  and  continued  its 
hostilities.  Josephine  could  not  withdraw  herself  from  this 
old  world  ;  she  dared  not  place  the  paradise  of  Malmaison  as 
a  wall  of  partition  between  her  and  the  wild  stir  and  tumult 
of  Paris ;  she  had  to  rush  away  from  the  world  of  inno- 
cence, from  this  country-life,  into  the  whirlpool  of  the  agi- 
tated, restless  life  of  Paris. 

Bonaparte  had  made  it  a  duty  for  her  to  watch  his 
friends  as  well  as  his  foes,  and  there  were  then  happening 
in  Paris  events  which  appeared  to  the  wife  of  General  Bona- 
parte worthy  of  close  observation.  His  long  absence  had  di- 
minished the  number  of  his  friends,  and  at  the  same  time 
gave  strength  to  and  increased  his  enemies,  who  were  ever 
busy  to  defame  and  vilify  his  heroic  deeds,  and  to  turn  them 
into  a  crime ;  they  represented  that  the  expedition  to  Egypt, 
notwithstanding  the  glorious  exploits  of  the  French  army, 
should  have  had  more  striking  results,  and  the  louder  they 
cried  out,  the  more  feeble  and  timid  were  the  voices  of  his 
friends.  The  latter  daily  found  their  position  becoming 
more  precarious,  for  they  were  the  moderate  republicans, 
the  supporters  of  the  actual  order  of  things,  and  of  the 
constitution  which  France  had  adopted.  Against  this  con- 
stitution arose,  with  loud  cries,  two  hostile  parties,  which 
increased  every  day,  and  assumed  toward  it  a  more  and  more 
threatening  attitude. 

These  parties  were,  on  the  one  hand,  the  royalists,  who 
saw  their  hopes  increase  every  day,  because  the  armies  of 
the  European  powers,  allied  against  France,  were  approach- 
ing nearer  and  nearer  the  French  frontiers ;  and,  on  the 
other,  the  republicans  of  the  past,  who  hoped  to  re-establish 
the  old  days  of  the  Convention  and  of  the  red  republic. 

Both  parties  tried  to  undermine  society  and  the  existing 
authorities ;  they  organized  conspiracies,  seditions,  and  tu- 
mults, and  were  constantly  inventing  new  intrigues,  so  as  to 
destroy  the  government,  and  set  themselves  up  in  its  place. 


362  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

The  royalists  trusted  to  the  combined  powers  of  the 
princes  of  Europe,  with  whom  the  exiled  Bourbons  were 
approaching ;  and  in  La  Vendee  the  guerilla  warfare  had 
already  begun  against  the  republic. 

The  red  republicans  dreamed  of  re-establishing  the  guil- 
lotine, which  was  to  restore  France  to  health  by  delivering 
her  from  all  the  adversaries  of  the  republic  and  bring  back 
the  glorious  days  of  1793 ;  they  left  nothing  untried  to 
excite  the  people  into  dissatisfaction  and  open  rebellion. 

Against  both  parties  stood  the  Directory,  who  in  these 
days  of  tumult  and  sedition,  were  themselves  feeble  and 
without  energy,  seeking  only  to  prolong  their  existence. 
They  were  satisfied  to  live  on  day  by  day,  and  shrank  from 
every  decided  action  which  might  increase  the  wrath  of  the 
parties  or  destroy  the  brilliant  present  of  the  mighty  direct- 
ors, in  whose  ears  the  title  of  "  the  five  monarchs  "  sounded 
so  sweetly. 

In  the  interior  of  France,  anarchy,  with  all  its  horrors 
and  confusion,  prevailed,  and,  on  the  frontier,  its  enemies 
were  taking  advantage  of  this  anarchy  to  give  to  the  republic 
its  mortal  stroke. 

Turkey,  Russia,  the  Kings  of  Sardinia,  Naples,  and  Swe- 
den, were  allied  with  Austria,  England,  and  Prussia,  and 
they  had  begun  to  make  immense  preparations.  A  Russian 
army,  led  by  Suwarrow,  was  marching  toward  Italy,  to  the 
help  of  Austria — to  reconquer  Lombardy.  The  Rastadt 
congress,  from  which  a  universal  peace  had  been  expected, 
had  dissolved,  and  the  only  result  was  an  increased  enmity 
between  Germany  and  France,  the  deputies  of  the  latter,  as 
they  were  returning  home,  being  shamefully  murdered  in 
the  open  street,  immediately  before  the  gates  of  Rastadt,  at 
the  instigation  of  the  Austrian  Count  Lehrbach. 

The  murder  of  these  ambassadors  became  the  signal  for 
the  renewal  of  war,  wliich  was  now  to  be  prosecuted  with 
increased  bitterness. 


PLOMBlfeRES  AND  MALMAISON.  363 

At  this  important,  critical  moment,  when  all  Europe  was 
buckling  on  its  armor  against  France,  which  so  much  needed 
the  guidance  of  her  victorious  general — at  this  moment, 
Bonaparte  was  not  only  away  from  Paris,  but  no  news  had 
been  received  from  him  for  some  months.  Only  a  vague 
rumor  was  spread  through  Paris  :  "  Bonaparte  had  fallen  at 
the  desperate  attack  on  Acre,"  and  this  sufficed  to  discourage 
entirely  his  friends,  and  to  make  his  enemies  still  more 
audacious  and  overbearing. 

At  first  Josephine  was  entirely  cast  down  by  the  terrible 
news ;  but  afterward  came  the  reflection,  the  doubt,  the  hope, 
that  all  this  might  be  a  rumor  spread  by  his  enemies.  She 
hastened  to  Paris  to  obtain  information  from  the  Directory, 
so  as  to  find  out  if  there  were  any  foundation  for  the  report 
of  Bonaparte's  death.  But  the  Directory  had  as  uncertain 
news  as  Josephine  herself,  and  the  absence  of  information 
seemed  to  confirm  its  truth. 

As  she  came  one  day  to  Barras  to  ask  him  if  there  were 
any  ncAvs  from  the  army,  she  heard  him  say  to  Eewbell,  one 
of  the  five  directors :  "  Here  comes  the  wife  of  that  hypo- 
crite Bonaparte !  If  he  is  not  dead  to  Europe,  he  is  at  least 
dead  to  France." 

This  expression  proved  to  her  that  Barras  himself  did 
not  believe  in  his  death,  and  gave  to  Josephine  all  her  energy 
and  presence  of  mind.  She  busied  herself  in  endeavoring 
to  find  a  clew  to  this  horrible  rumor ;  and  she  found  that 
Bonaparte's  enemies  had  spread  it,  and  that  only  those  to 
whom  his  death  would  be  welcome,  and  his  return  be  objec- 
tionable, had  circulated  this  report. 

Her  heart  again  beat  with  hope ;  she  now  felt,  in  the 
blissful  joy  which  penetrated  her  whole  being,  that  Bona- 
parte was  not  dead ;  that  he  lived  still ;  that  he  would  return 
home,  to  her  great  delight  and  to  the  terror  of  his  foes.  A 
cheerful  assurance  sustained  her  whole  nature.  While  all 
those,  who  in  the  days  of  her  happiness  had  rivalled  each 


364  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

other  in  assuring  her  of  their  friendship  and  devotedness, 
the  Directory,  the  ministers,  the  majority  of  the  generals, 
turned  away  from  her,  cold  and  indifferent ;  and  her  few 
true  friends,  low-spirited  and  depressed,  bowed  their  heads, 
while  her  foes  and  those  of  Bonaparte  scornfully  said  in 
their  joy,  "  Now  the  new  King  of  Jerusalem  and  Cyprus 
has  fallen  under  the  blows  of  a  new  savage  Omar."  While 
every  thing  was  against  her,  Josephine  alone  was  cheerful, 
and  confidingly  looked  into  the  future,  for  she  felt  and  knew 
that  the  future  would  soon  bring  back  her  husband,  her 
beloved. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE   FIRST   FAITHLESSNESS. 

Josephine's  prophetic  heart  had  not  deceived  her.  Bo- 
naparte  lived !  But  his  was  a  life  of  danger,  of  constantly 
renewed  battles  and  hardships — a  life  in  which  he  had  con- 
stantly to  guard  against  not  only  enemies,  but  also  against 
sickness. 

Bonaparte  had  traversed  the  deserts  with  his  army,  visited 
the  pyramids,  conquered  Cairo,  and,  in  warmly-contested  and 
fearful  combats,  had  defeated  and  subdued  the  Mussulman. 
But  these  numerous  victories  had  been  followed  by  some 
defeats,  and  all  his  successes  were  more  than  counterbalanced 
by  the  fruitless  storming  of  the  impregnable  Acre,  and  the 
failure  to  conquer  Syria.  The  English  admiral,  Sidney 
Smith,  with  his  vessels,  anchored  in  the  harbor  of  Acre, 
protected  the  besieged,  and  constantly  provided  them  with 
provisions  and  ammunition,  and  so  efficiently  supported  the 
pacha  and  liis  mercenary  European  soldiers,  that  Bonaparte, 
after  two  months  of  fruitless  efforts,  abandoned  the  siege^ 
on  the  10th  of  May,  1799,  and  retreated  into  Egypt. 


THE  FIRST  FAITHLESSNESS.  ^65 

This  is  not,  however,  the  place  to  recall  the  stupendous 
enterprises  of  Bonaparte,  which  remind  one  of  the  deeds  of 
the  heroes  and  demi-gods  of  ancient  Greece,  or  the  nursery 
tales  of  extraordinary  beings. 

His  heroic  deeds  are  engraven  on  history's  page :  there 
can  be  read  the  wondrous  events  of  his  Egyptian  campaign, 
of  his  march  through  the  wilderness,  of  the  capture  of 
Cairo,  of  his  successful  battles  of  Aboukir  and  Tabor,  which 
led  the  heroic  General  Kleber,  forgetting  all  rivalry,  to 
embrace  Bonaparte,  exclaiming :  "  General  Bonaparte,  you 
are  as  great  as  the  world,  but  the  world  is  too  small  for 
you!" 

There,  also,  one  can  read  of  the  cruel  massacre  of  three 
thousand  captive  Mussulmen,  of  the  revolt  of  Cairo ;  there 
are  depicted  the  blood-stained  laurels  which  Bonaparte  won 
in  this  expedition,  the  original  plan  of  which  seems  to  have 
been  conceived  in  the  brain  of  one  who  was  at  once  a  demi- 
god and  an  adventurer. 

We  leave,  therefore,  to  history  the  exclusive  privilege  of 
narrating  Bonaparte's  career  as  a  warrior ;  our  task  is  with 
something  superior — with  his  thoughts,  feelings,  and  suffer- 
ings, in  the  days  of  his  Egyptian  campaign.  It  is  not  with 
the  soldier,  the  captain,  or  his  plans  of  battle,  that  we  have 
to  do,  but  with  the  man,  and  especially  with  the  husband  of 
Josephine — the  woman  who  for  his  sake  suffered,  was  full  of 
solicitude,  contended  for  him,  and  struggled  with  love  and 
loyalty,  while  he  fought  only  with  sword  and  cannon. 

It  is  true,  Bonaparte  also  had  to  suffer,  and  his  anxieties 
for  the  success  of  his  plans  did  not  alone  hang  heavily  on 
his  heart,  while  with  his  army  he  besieged  the  impregnable 
Acre.  At  this  very  time  his  heart  received  a  deep  wound 
from  his  friend  and  confidant  Junot,  who  drove  the  sting  of 
jealousy  into  his  sensitive  heart.  It  is  the  privilege  of  friend- 
ship to  pass  by  in  silence  nothing  which  calumny  or  ill-will 
may  imagine  or  circulate,  but  truly  to  make  known  to  our 


866  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

friend  every  thing  which  the  public  says  of  him,  without 
regard  to  the  sufferings  which  such  communications  may 
entail  upon  his  heart.  Junot  made  full  use  of  this  privilege. 
Bourrienne  in  his  memoirs  relates  as  follows : 

"  While  we  were  in  the  vicinity  of  the  springs  of  Messon- 
diah,  I  saw  one  day  Bonaparte,  with  his  friend  Junot,  pacing 
to  and  fro,  as  he  often  did.  I  was  not  very  far  from  them, 
and  I  know  not  why  during  this  conversation  my  eyes  were 
fixed  on  him.  The  face  of  the  general  was  paler  than  usual, 
though  I  knew  not  the  cause.  There  was  a  strange  nervous- 
ness ;  his  eyes  seemed  bewildered,  and  he  often  struck  his 
head  with  his  hand. 

"  After  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  he  left  Junot  and  came 
toward  me.  I  had  noticed  his  angry,  thoughtful  expression. 
I  went  to  meet  him,  and  as  I  stood  before  him,  Bonaparte, 
with  a  harsh  and  severe  tone,  exclaimed :  '  You  have  no 
affection  for  me.  The  women !  .  .  .  Josephine !  .  .  .  Had 
you  any  affection  for  me,  you  would  long  ago  have  given  me 
the  information  which  Junot  has  now  told  me :  he  is  a  true 
friend !  Josephine !  .  .  .  and  I  am  six  hundred  miles  away ! 
.  .  .  You  ought  to  have  told  me !  .  .  .  Josephine !  ...  so 
to  deceive  me !  .  .  .  You !  .  .  .  Woe  to  you  all !  I  will 
uproot  that  detestable  race  of  seducers  and  blondins  !  As 
regards  her — separation ! — yes :  divorce,  public  separation 
before  the  eyes  of  all !  ...  I  must  write !  I  know  every 
thing !  ...  It  is  her  fault,  Bourrienne !  You  ought  to  have 
told  me.* 

"These  vehement,  broken  utterances,  the  strange  ex- 
pression on  his  face,  and  his  excited  tone  of  voice,  revealed 
only  too  clearly  what  had  been  the  subject  of  the  conversa- 
tion he  had  had  with  Junot.  I  saw  that  Junot  had  been 
drawn  into  a  fatal  indiscretion,  and  that  if  he  had  really  be- 
lieved that  charges  could  be  made  against  Madame  Bona- 
parte, he  had  exaggerated  them  in  an  unpardonable  manner. 
My  situation  was  one  of  extreme  delicacy :  I  had,  however 


THE  FIRST  FAITHLESSNESS.  367 

the  good  fortune  to  remain  cool,  and  as  soon  as  his  first 
excitement  had  subsided,  I  began  to  tell  him  that  I  knew 
nothing  about  what  Junot  had  told  him  ;  that  if  even  such 
rumors,  which  often  were  circulated  only  by  slander,  had 
reached  me,  and  if  I  had  thought  it  my  duty  to  communi- 
cate them  to  him,  I  should  certainly  not  have  chosen  the 
moment  when  he  was  six  hundred  miles  away  from  France 
to  do  so.  I  did  not  hesitate  to  tell  him  how  blameworthy 
Junot's  conduct  appeared  to  me,  and  how  ungenerous  it  was 
to  accuse  a  woman  thoughtlessly,  when  she  was  not  present 
to  justify  or  to  defend  herself ;  I  told  him  that  it  was  no 
proof  of  affection  for  Junot  to  add  domestic  troubles  to  the 
grave  anxieties  which  already  overburdened  him.  Notwith- 
standing my  observations,  to  which,  however,  he  listened 
with  composure,  the  word  '  separation '  fell  often  from  his 
lips,  and  one  must  understand  to  what  a  pitch  the  excite- 
ment of  his  feelings  could  carry  him,  to  be  able  to  imagine 
how  Bonaparte  appeared  during  this  painful  scene.  I  did 
not,  however,  give  up  the  point ;  I  came  back  to  what  I  had 
said.  I  reminded  him  with  what  carelessness  men  received 
and  circulated  such  reckless  stories,  suited  only  to  the  idle 
curiosity  of  gossips,  and  unworthy  the  attention  of  strong 
minds.  I  spoke  to  him  of  his  fame  :  '  My  fame  ? '  cried  he, 
*  ah,  I  know  not  what  I  would  give  if  what  Junot  has  told 
me  is  not  true — so  much  do  I  love  this  woman  ...  if 
Josephine  is  guilty,  I  must  be  divorced  from  her  forever. 
...  I  will  not  be  the  ridicule  of  the  idle  babblers  of  Paris ! 
I  must  write  to  Joseph  to  procure  this  separation.' 

"  Though  he  was  still  much  excited,  yet  he  was  some- 
what more  quiet.  I  took  advantage  of  a  moment's  pause  to 
combat  this  idea  of  separation  which  seemed  to  overrule 
him.  I  called  his  attention  to  the  unreasonableness  it 
would  be,  on  such  vague  and  probably  false  rumors,  to 
write  to  his  brother.  '  If  you  send  a  letter,'  said  I,  '  it  wtl'v 
bear  the  impress  of  the  excitement  which  has  dictated  it; 


368  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

as  regards  a  separation,  it  will  be  time,  after  mature  consid- 
eration, to  speak  of  it.' 

"  These  last  words  made  an  impression  on  him  which  I 
had  not  expected  so  soon  to  see ;  he  became  perfectly  calm, 
and  listened  to  me  as  if  he  felt  the  need  of  receiving  words 
of  encouragement,  and  after  this  conversation  he  never  again 
alluded  to  the  subject.  Fourteen  days  after,  before  Acre,  he 
manifested  to  me  the  most  violent  displeasure  against  Junot, 
complained  of  the  sufferings  which  such  indiscreet  revela- 
tions had  caused  him,  and  which  ho  now  considered  as 
purely  an  invention  of  malice.  I  afterward  noticed  that  he 
did  not  forgive  Junot  this  stupidity.  It  is  easy  to  under- 
stand why  Josephine,  when  she  learned  from  Napoleon  this 
conduct  of  Junot,  never  could  feel  for  him  a  very  warm 
interest,  or  intercede  in  his  favor."  * 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  very  sensitive  heart  of  Bonaparte 
had  again  been  kindled  into  jealousy,  as  it  so  often  had  hap- 
pened before  in  Italy.  Absence — a  momentary  separation — 
was  enough  to  enkindle  these  flames.  We  have  seen  in  the 
letters  which  Bonaparte  wrote  to  Josephine  during  the 
Italian  campaign,  how  her  silence — the  least  delay  in  her 
answering  his  letters — was  enough  for  him  to  incriminate 
her,  on  account  of  his  jealous  affections ;  how,  because  she 
does  not  constantly  write,  he  threatens  to  rush  in  some 
night  unexpectedly,  and  with  the  rage  of  jealousy  force  the 
doors  open,  and  murder  "  the  young  lover  of  eighteen,  and 
curse  Josephine  because  he  must  love  her  without  bounds.'* 

Now  he  swears  to  root  out  this  detestable  race  of  seducers 
and  hlondins  who  have  beguiled  from  him  the  heart  of  his 
Josephine.  Full  of  passion  and  jealousy,  he  believes  in  the 
calumnies  which  Junot,  with  all  the  cruel  inconsiderateness 
of  a  trusty  friend,  has  whispered  to  him,  and  at  once  Jo- 
sephine is  guilty !    She  has  had  a  love-correspondence  with 

•  Bourrienne,  "  MImoires,"  voL  ii.,  p.  213. 


THE  FIRST  FAITHLESSNESS.  369 

Charles  Botot,  the  blond  private  secretary  of  Barras,  for 
Charles  Botot  comes  sometimes  to  Malmaison,  and  has  often 
been  seen  near  Josephine  and  her  daughter  Hortense  in  her 
loge!  But  by  degrees  comes  reflection,  and  a  fortnight  after 
he  believes  that  malice  alone  can  have  invented  these  calum- 
nies. This  noble  conviction,  however,  was  soon  to  be  shaken 
by  the  enemy,  for  Josephine  had  enemies  quite  near  Bona- 
parte, who  longed  to  draw  away  from  her  a  husband's  heart 
and  to  drive  him  into  a  divorce. 

First  of  all  there  were  the  whole  family  of  Bonaparte, 
who  had  seen  with  unwillingness  Napoleon's  marriage,  for 
he  was  thereby  much  less  under  their  influence,  and  they 
had  wished  that  he  would  at  all  events  have  married  Desiree 
Clary,  the  sister  of  Joseph's  wife,  and  thus  have  been  more 
closely  united  to  the  family. 

But,  while  he  was  in  Egypt,  another  powerful  enemy  had 
been  added  to  these.  This  was  a  young  and  beautiful  woman, 
Madame  Four^s,  the  beloved  of  the  ardent  general. 

While  Bonaparte,  with  all  the  madness  of  jealousy  at  a 
mere  groundless  calumny,  which  had  come  across  the  sea  dis- 
torted and  magnified,  wished  to  be  divorced  from  Josephine ; 
while  he  complained  of  woman's  faithlessness,  frivolity, 
and  inconstancy ;  while  he  cursed  all  women  as  coquettes,  he 
himself  was  guilty  of  faithlessness.  Forgetting  his  vows  and 
his  protestations  of  love  for  his  wife,  he  had  abandoned  him- 
self to  a  new  affection  without  any  regard  to  public  opinion, 
and  even  made  no  secret  of  his  intrigues. 

Unfortunate  Josephine !  The  fears  she  had  anticipated 
and  dreaded  before  accepting  Bonaparte's  proffered  hand 
were  too  soon  to  be  realized.  His  heart  began  to  grow  cold 
while  her  love  increased  every  day  with  deeper  intensity ;  he 
had  perchance  already  read  in  her  amiable  countenance  the 
first  signs  of  age,  and  he  thought  it  might  well  be  allowed 
to  the  young  general  not  to  maintain  so  strict  a  fealty  to 
that  faithfulness  which  he  claimed  from  her. 


370  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

But  Bonaparte  still  loved  Josephine,  although  he  was 
unfaithful  to  her.  Surely  this  new  love  might  well  bear 
the  guilt  of  the  credulousness  with  which  he  judged  Jose- 
phine, and  the  word  of  separation  might  thus  easily  come 
upon  his  lips,  because  the  newly-loved  one,  amid  the  vows 
of  her  affection,  might  have  whispered  it  in  his  ear. 

Madame  Four^s  had  an  immense  advantage  over  Jose- 
phine ;  she  was  barely  twenty  years  old,  was  bewitchingly 
beautiful,  was  a  coquette,  and — she  was  there  in  Bonaparte's 
immediate  presence,  while  the  Mediterranean  separated  him 
from  Josephine. 

Bonaparte  abandoned  himself  to  this  new  love  with  all 
his  passionate  nature.  Not  only  did  the  whole  army  in 
Egypt  know  this,  but  his  foes  also  became  acquainted  with 
it ;  and  Sir  Sidney  Smith  made  use  of  this  fact  to  attack  his 
enemy  in  a  way  little  known  to  the  annals  of  warfare.  Bona- 
parte had  removed  from  the  Egyptian  army  Madame  Foures' 
injured  husband,  who  held  there  the  rank  of  a  cavalry  officer, 
by  sending  him  with  a  message  to  the  Directory.  But  the 
vessel  in  which  he  had  sailed  for  France  was  captured  by 
the  English,  and  Admiral  Sidney  Smith  undertook,  with  all 
the  careless,  open  manner  of  an  Englishman,  to  make  him 
fully  acquainted  with  the  relations  existing  between  his  wife 
and  General  Bonaparte. 

He  then  gave  to  M.  Foures,  who  was  beside  himself  with 
anger  and  wrath,  and  who  threatened  bloody  vengeance,  his 
freedom,  and  exhibited  his  good-will  toward  him  so  far  as 
to  have  him  landed  near  Cairo,  where  Bonaparte  then  was 
with  his  beautiful  mistress. 

Enraged  with  jealousy,  M.  Foures  rushed  to  his  wife,  to 
make  to  her  the  most  violent  demonstrations.  Perhaps  too 
weak  to  part  with  an  adored,  beautiful  wife,  he  simply 
ordered  her  to  return  with  him  to  France. 

But  Madame  Foures  made  resistance.  She  called  her 
mighty  lover  to  her  help ;   she  claimed  a  separation ;  and 


THE  FIRST  FAITHLESSNESS.  371 

the  war-commissioner  Duprat,  who  in  the  army  was  invested 
with  the  functions  of  a  civil  magistrate,  pronounced,  at  the 
request  of  Madame  Fourea  and  at  the  order  of  Bonaparte, 
the  decree  of  separation. 

Madame  Four^s  was  free,  but  this  did  not  satisfy  the 
secret  wishes  of  her  heart.  The  most  important  point  was, 
that  Bonaparte  should  be  free  also,  that  he  also  should  desire 
to  be  divorced.  Josephine  must  be  removed  from  him  and 
thrust  aside,  so  that  the  beautiful  Pauline  Foures  might 
take  her  place. 

No  means,  either  of  coquetry,  tears,  flatteries,  or  promises 
of  enduring  love,  remained  untried  to  induce  Bonaparte  to 
take  the  decisive  step.  Sometimes  Pauline  would  pout; 
sometimes  her  eyes  shed  the  tears  of  repentance  over  her 
own  faithlessness,  and  she  vowed  she  would  take  refuge  in 
a  cloister  if  Bonaparte  would  not  restore  her  to  honor  by 
exalting  her  to  the  position  of  being  his  wife ;  sometimes 
she  sought  by  her  cheerful  humor,  her  genial  abandonment, 
to  bind  him  to  her,  to  amuse  him ;  and  sometimes,  when 
dressed  as  a  general,  on  a  fiery  horse,  and  surrounded  by  a 
vast  number  of  adjutants,  she  would  ride  up  to  him  and  win 
by  her  smiles  and  flatteries  friends,  who  calumniated  Jose- 
phine, and  represented  to  him  the  necessity  of  a  separation 
from  his  inconstant  wife. 

But,  notwithstanding  all  the  calumnies,  and  all  the 
deceiving  arts  of  his  beloved,  there  existed  in  Bonaparte's 
heart  something  which  spoke  in  favor  of  the  poor,  slan- 
dered, and  forgotten  Josephine;  and,  amid  the  exciting 
pleasures  of  his  new  passion,  he  remembered  with  longing, 
sorrowful  heart  the  charming,  gracious  woman  whom  he 
once  had  tenderly  loved,  and  whom  he  still  so  loved  that  he 
could  not  sacrifice  her  to  his  beautiful  mistress.  Still  he 
persevered  in  showing  to  the  latter  the  deepest,  most  tender, 
and  undivided  attention  ;  and  when  the  chances  of  war  kept 
him  away  from  her  for  a  long  time,  when  he  went  to  Syria 


37^  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINR 

and  left  her  in  Cairo,  Bonaparte  wrote  to  her  every  day  the 
most  touching  letters,  which  were  forwarded  by  a  special 
courier. 

This  was  occurring  at  the  same  time  that  Josephine  in 
Paris  was  hoping  in  vain  with  painful  longing  for  letters 
from  her  husband,  and  was  watching  over  his  interests  with 
the  kindest  attention,  while  his  enemies  were  spreading  news 
of  his  death. 

Bonaparte  had  now  no  time  to  write  to  his  wife,  for  the 
beautiful  Pauline  Four^s  laid  claim  to  the  little  leisure 
which  remained  to  the  commanding  general,  and  to  her  he 
addressed  warm  and  glowing  words  of  love,  such  as  while  in 
Italy  he  had  addressed  to  Josephine  when  he  swore  to  her 
never  to  love  another  woman. 

Meanwhile  Fate  rendered  fruitless  all  the  efforts  of  the 
beautiful  Madame  Four^s  to  draw  Bonaparte  into  a  separa- 
tion ;  Fate  came  to  Josephine's  rescue,  and,  strange  to  say, 
it  came  in  the  shape  of  the  Frankfort  Journal. 

The  victorious  battle  of  Aboukir,  which  Bonaparte,  on 
the  25th  of  July,  1799,  had  with  his  army  won  over  the 
enemy,  gave  occasion  to  parleying  negotiations  between  the 
French  commander-in-chief  and  the  English  admiral,  Sidney 
Smith.  Bonaparte  sent  a  commissioner  on  board  the  English 
flag-ship,  and  Sir  Sidney  Smith  was  cunning  enough  to  send 
through  this  commissioner  to  the  French  general  a  few 
newspapers  recently  received  from  Europe.  For  ten  months 
the  French  army  and  Bonaparte  were  without  news  from 
France,  and  this  present  of  the  English  admiral  was  re- 
ceived by  Bonaparte  and  his  generals  with  the  deepest  joy 
and  curiosity. 

Among  these  papers  was  a  copy  of  the  Journal  de 
Frankfort  of  the  10th  of  June,  1799.  This  was  the  first 
newspaper  which  furnished  Bonaparte  with  news  from 
France  for  ten  long  months,  and  the  natural  consequence 
was  that  he  glanced  over  it  with  the  most  inquisitive  im- 


THE  FIRST  FAITHLESSNESS.  373 

patience.  Suddenly  he  uttered  a  cry ;  the  pallor  of  death 
overspread  his  face,  and,  fixing  his  flaming  eyes  on  Bour- 
rienne,  who  at  this  moment  was  alone  with  him — "  My  pre- 
sentiments have  not  deceived  me,"  exclaimed  Bonaparte. 
"Italy  is  lost!  The  wretched  creatures!  All  the  results 
of  our  victories  have  vanished !  I  must  go  to  France  at 
once — this  very  moment ! "  * 

This  newspaper  informed  Bonaparte  of  the  late  events 
in  France.  It  told  him  that  the  French  Directory  had 
experienced  a  change,  that  only  one  of  them,  Barras,  had  re- 
mained in  it,  and  that  four  new  directors — Sieyes,  Gohier, 
Moulins,  and  Ducos — were  now  its  members.  It  told  him 
much  more — that  the  French  army  in  Italy  had  suffered 
the  most  disastrous  reverses  ;  that  all  Italy  had  been  recon- 
quered by  the  combined  armies  of  Russia  and  Austria 
under  Suwarrow  and  the  Archduke  Charles,  who  were  now 
advancing  upon  France,  which  was  on  every  side  sur- 
rounded by  the  revengeful  enemies  of  the  republic. 

No  sooner  had  Bonaparte  read  this  news  than  his  de- 
cision was  taken.  Berthier  was  called  into  his  tent,  and 
under  the  seal  of  silence  Bonaparte  communicated  to  him 
his  unwavering  resolution  of  going  immediately  to  France, 
but  that  this  was  to  remain  a  secret  to  his  whole  army  as 
well  as  all  the  generals.  Berthier,  Gautheaume,  Eugene  Beau- 
hamais,  Monge,  and  Bourrienne,  were  alone  to  accompany 
him,  but  the  last  two  were  not  to  be  made  acquainted  with 
their  departure  for  Europe  before  they  had  left  Cairo  with 
Bonaparte.  As  he  noticed  gleams  of  joy  in  Berthier's 
face  at  the  news  of  returning  to  France,  Bonaparte  once 
more  impressed  upon  him  the  duty  of  preserving  silence 
and  not  to  betray  the  secret  by  word  or  deed,  and  to  d6 
nothing  which  might  induce  friends  or  acquaintances  to 
believe  that  a  voyage  was  contemplated.     The  secret  was 

•  Bourrienne,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  ii.,  p.  305. 


874  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

indeed  faithfully  kept,  and  the  few  confidants  intrusted 
with  it  took  great  care  to  divulge  nothing,  for  fear  he 
might  punish  them  by  leaving  them  in  Egypt. 

Bonaparte  himself  maintained  the  most  absolute  secre- 
cy ;  neither  his  beloved,  the  beautiful  Pauline  Four^s,  nor 
General  Kleber,  whom  he  had  chosen  to  be  his  successor 
in  the  chief  command  of  the  army  of  Egypt,  suspected  any 
thing. 

To  his  beloved,  Bonaparte  said  he  was  leaving  Cairo  for 
the  sake  of  making  a  tour  through  the  Delta,  and  that  in  a 
few  weeks  he  would  be  with  her  again.  The  news  he  had 
received  from  Europe  had  suddenly  cooled  the  glow  of  his 
passion,  and,  at  the  thought  of  returning  to  France,  rose 
up  again  before  his  mind  the  image  of  Josephine  in  all 
her  grace  and  loveliness.  For  a  long  time,  while  she  was 
not  at  his  side,  he  had  been  unfaithful  to  her,  but  he  did  not 
wish,  for  his  own  sake,  to  add  scandal  to  faithlessness.  He 
did  not  wish  to  bring  to  France  with  him,  as  sole  booty 
from  Egypt,  a  mistress. 

Pauline  Four^s,  therefore,  suspected  as  little  of  his 
plans  as  General  Kleber.  It  was  only  after  Bonaparte, 
with  his  small  suite  of  five  confidants  and  the  Mameluke 
Roustan,  had  embarked  at  Alexandria,  that  Pauline  learned 
that  he  had  deserted — that  he  had  abandoned  her.  In  a 
short  note  which  his  master  of  the  stall.  Vigogne,  handed 
to  her,  Bonaparte  took  leave  of  her,  and  made  her  a  present 
of  every  thing  he  left  behind  in  Cairo,  including  the  house 
he  occupied,  with  all  its  costly  and  luxurious  furniture.* 

*  The  departure  of  Bonaparte  made  Madame  Foures  comfortless, 
aud  she  now  watched  for  an  opportunity  to  hasten  back  to  him  in 
Prance.  Touched  by  her  tears  and  prayers,  Junot  furnished  her  with 
an  opportunity,  and  Pauline  reached  Paris  in  November,  1799.  But 
Bonaparte  would  no  longer  see  her ;  he  now  sacrificed  the  mistress  to 
the  wife,  as  he  had  nearly  sacrificed  the  wife  to  the  mistress.  Paulin* 
received  orders  to  leave  Paris  immediately ;  at  the  same  time  Bona- 


THE  FIRST  FAITHLESSNESS.  375 

General  Kleber  learned  Bonaparte's  departure,  only 
through  the  orders  sent  to  him  by  the  latter  to  assume  the 
chief  command  of  the  army ;  his  troops  learned  his  absence 
by  the  order  of  the  day,  in  which  Bonaparte  bade  them 
farewell. 

After  four  weeks  of  a  long  voyage  against  tempestuous 
and  contrary  winds,  the  two  frigates,  upon  one  of  which 
Bonaparte  and  Eugene  and  his  other  followers  had  em- 
barked, touched  at  Ajaccio.  The  whole  population  had 
no  sooner  learned  that  Bonaparte  was  in  the  harbor,  than 
they  rushed  out  to  see  him,  and  to  salute  him  with  enthu- 
siastic demonstrations ;  and  it  was  in  vain  that  their  atten- 
tion was  drawn  to  the  fact  that  both  frigates  had  come 
directly  from  Egypt,  and  had  to  observe  quarantine  before 
any  communication  with  the  population  could  be  allowed. 

"Pestilence  sooner  than  the  Austrians!"  shouted  the 
people,  and  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  boats  surrounded  the 
French  vessels.  Every  one  wanted  to  see  the  general,  their 
famous  countryman,  Bonaparte.  But  Bonaparte's  heart 
was  sorrowful  amid  the  general  rejoicing,  for  in  Ajaccio  he 
had  learned  of  the  great  battle  of  Novi,  where  the  Austrians 
had  gained  the  victory,  and  which  had  cost  General  Jou- 
bert*8  life. 

"  It  is  too  great  an  evil,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh ;  "  there  is 
no  help  for  it."  But  as  he  gave  up  Italy,  all  his  thoughts 
were  more  strongly  bent  upon  Paris,  and  his  desire  to  be 
there  as  soon  as  possible  increased  more  and  more. 

After  a  short  stay  in  Ajaccio,  the  voyage  to  France, 
despite  all  quarantine  regulations,  was  continued,  and  the 
star  of  fortune,  which  had  hitherto  protected  him,  still 
guided  Bonaparte  safely  into  the  harbor  of  Fr6jus,  though 

parte  sent  her  a  large  sum  of  money,  which  he  afterward  repeated. — 

See  Saint  Elsne,  "Les  Amours  et  Galanteries  des  Rois  de  France," 

vol.  iL,  p.  320. 

25 


876  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

the  English  fleet  had  watched  and  pursued  the  French 
vessels.  A  courier  was  at  once  dispatched  to  the  Directory 
in  Paris  to  announce  the  arrival  of  Bonaparte,  and  that  he 
would,  without  any  delay,  come  to  Paris. 

Josephine  was  at  a  dinner  at  Gohier's,  one  of  the  five 
directors,  when  this  courier  arrived,  and  with  a  shout  of 
joy  she  received  the  news  of  her  husband's  coming.  Her 
longing  was  such  that  she  could  not  wait  for  him  in  Paris, 
in  her  house  of  the  Rue  de  la  Victoire.  She  resolved  to 
meet  him,  and  to  be  the  first  to  bid  him  welcome,  and  to 
show  him  her  unutterable  love. 

No  sooner  was  this  resolution  taken  than  it  was  carried 
out.  She  began  her  journey  with  the  expectation  of  meet- 
ing her  husband  at  Lyons,  for  in  his  letter  to  the  Directory 
he  stated  that  he  would  come  by  way  of  Lyons.  In  great 
haste,  without  rest  or  delay,  Josephine  travelled  the  road  to 
that  city,  her  heart  beating,  her  luminous  eyes  gazing  on- 
ward, looking  with  inexpressible  expectancy  at  every  ap- 
proaching carriage,  for  it  might  bring  her  the  husband  so 
long  absent  from  her  \ 

She  little  suspected  that  while  she  was  hastening  toward 
Lyons,  Bonaparte  had  already  arrived  in  Paris.  He  had 
changed  the  plan  of  his  journey,  and,  entirely  controlled  by 
his  impatient  desires,  he  had  driven  to  Paris  by  the  shortest 
route.  Josephine  was  not  there  to  receive  him  in  her  house ; 
she  was  not  there  to  welcome  the  returning  one — and  the 
old  serpent  of  jealousy  and  mistrust  awoke  again  within 
him.  To  add  to  this,  his  brothers  and  sisters  had  seized 
the  occasion  to  give  vent  to  their  ill-will  by  suspicions  and 
accusations  against  their  unwelcome  sister-in-law.  Bona- 
parte, full  of  sad  apprehension  at  her  absence,  perhaps  se- 
cretly wishing  to  find  her  guilty,  listened  to  the  whisperings 
of  her  enemies. 

He  therefore  did  not  go  to  meet  Josephine  the  next  day 
on  her  return  from  her  unsuccessful  journey.    A  few  hours 


THE  FIRST  FAITHLESSNESS.  377 

after,  he  opened  his  closed  doors  and  went  to  see  her.  She 
advanced  toward  him  with  looks  full  of  love  and  ^nder- 
ness,  and  opened  her  arms  to  him,  and  wanted  to  press  him 
closely  to  her  heart. 

But  he  coldly  held  her  back,  and  with  deliberate  se- 
verity and  an  expression  of  the  highest  indifference,  he 
saluted  her,  and  asked  if  she  had  returned  happy  and  sat- 
isfied from  her  pleasure  excursion  with  her  light-haired 
friend. 

Josephine's  tears  gushed  forth,  and,  as  if  annihilated,  she 
sank  down,  but  she  had  not  a  word  of  defence  or  of  justi- 
fication against  the  cruel  accusation.  Her  heart  had  been 
too  deeply  wounded,  her  love  too  much  insulted,  to  allow 
her  to  defend  herself.  Her  tearful  eyes  only  responded  to 
Bonaparte's  cruel  question,  and  then  in  silence  she  retired 
to  her  apartments. 

For  three  days  they  did  not  see  each  other.  Josephine 
remained  in  her  rooms  and  wept.  Bonaparte  remained  in 
his  rooms  and  complained.  To  Bourrienne,  who  then  wa& 
not  only  his  private  secretary  but  also  his  confidant,  he 
complained  bitterly  of  the  faithlessness  and  inconstancy 
of  Josephine,  of  the  unheard-of  indifference  that  she  should 
undertake  a  pleasure-journey  when  she  knew  that  he  was 
soon  to  be  in  Paris.  It  was  in  vain  that  Bourrienne  as- 
sured him  that  Josephine  had  undertaken  no  pleasure-ex- 
cursion, that  she  had  left  Paris  only  to  meet  him,  and  to  be 
the  first  to  bid  him  welcome.  He  would  not  believe  him, 
for  in  the  melancholy  gloominess  of  his  jealousy  he  believed 
in  the  slanders  which  Josephine's  enemies,  and  his  brothers 
and  sisters,  had  whispered  in  his  ear,  that  Josephine  had 
left  Paris  for  a  parti  de  plaisir  with  Charles  Botot,  the 
beautiful  Uondin  whom  Bonaparte  so  deeply  hated.  How 
profound  his  sadness  was,  may  be  seen  by  a  letter  which  at 
this  time  he  wrote  to  his  brother  Joseph,  and  in  which  he 
says; 


378  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  of  domestic  sorrow  .  .  .  your 
friendship  to  me  is  very  dear ;  to  become  a  misanthrope, 
there  was  nothing  further  needed  than  to  lose  her  and  to  be 
betrayed  by  you.  It  is  a  sad  situation  indeed  to  have  in  one 
single  heart  all  these  emotions  for  the  same  person. 

"  I  will  purchase  a  country  residence  either  near  Paris 
or  in  Burgundy ;  I  am  thinking  of  passing  the  winter  there 
and  of  shutting  myself  up ;  I  feel  weary  with  human  na- 
ture ;  I  need  solitude  ;  I  want  to  be  alone ;  grandeur  op- 
presses me,  my  feelings  are  distorted.  Fame  appears  in- 
sipid at  my  twenty-nine  years ;  I  have  tried  every  thing ; 
nothing  remains  but  to  become  an  egotist."  * 

But,  according  to  himself,  "  he  cherished  in  his  heart, 
at  the  same  time,  all  manner  of  emotions  for  the  same  per- 
son ; "  that  is,  he  hated  and  detested  Josephine,  but  he  also 
loved  and  admired  her ;  was  angry  with  her,  and  yet  longed 
for  her ;  he  found  her  frivolous  and  faithless,  and  yet  some- 
thing in  his  heart  ever  spoke  in  her  favor,  and  assured  him 
that  she  was  a  noble  and  faithful  being. 

Fortunately,  there  was  one  who  confirmed  into  full  con- 
viction these  low  whisperings  of  his  heart;  fortunately, 
Bourrienne  ceased  not  to  argue  against  this  jealousy  of 
Bonaparte,  and  to  assure  him  again  and  again  that  Jose- 
phine was  innocent,  that  she  had  committed  nothing  to  ex- 
cite his  anger. 

Finally,  after  three  days  of  complaints  and  dreary  ac- 
cusations, love  conquered  in  the  heart  of  Bonaparte.  He 
went  to  Josephine.  She  advanced  to  meet  him  with  tears 
in  her  eyes,  but  with  a  soft,  tender  smile.  The  sight  of  her 
gracious  appearance,  her  blanched  cheeks,  moved  him,  and, 
instead  of  explanations  and  mutual  recriminations,  he 
opened  his  arms  to  her,  and  she  threw  herself  on  his  breast 
with  a  loud  cry  of  exultation. 

*  "  M^moircs  du  Roi  Joseph,"  vol.  i.,  p.  189. 


THE  FIRST  FAITHLESSNESS.  379 

Then  came  the  explanations.  He  now  believed  that 
she  had  left  Paris  hurriedly  for  the  sake  of  meeting  him  ; 
and,  as  regarded  the  dangerous  "  blond,"  the  private  sec- 
retary of  Barras,  M.  Charles  Botot,  Josephine  smilingly 
handed  to  her  husband  a  letter  she  had  received  from  him 
a  few  days  before.  In  this  letter  Charles  Botot  acknowl- 
edged his  long-cherished  affection  for  her  daughter  Hor- 
tense,  and  he  claimed  her  hand  in  due  form. 

"And  you  have  doubtless  accepted  his  offer?"  asked 
Bonaparte,  his  face  overcast  again.  ^  "  Since,  unfortunately, 
you  are  married  yourself,  and  he  cannot  be  your  husband, 
then  of  course  he  must  marry  the  daughter,  so  as  to  be  al- 
ways near  the  mother.  M.  Charles  Botot  is  no  doubt  to  be 
your  son-in-law  ?    You  have  accepted  his  hand  ?  "  ^ 

"  No,"  said  she,  softly,  "  we  have  refused  it,  for  Hor- 
tense  does  not  love  him,  and  she  will  follow  her  mother's 
example,  and  marry  only  through  love.  Besides,"  con- 
tinued Josephine,  with  a  sweet  smile,  "  I  wanted  him  no 
longer." 

"  You  wanted  him  no  longer !  How  is  this  ? "  asked 
General  Bonaparte,  eagerly. 

"  Barras  has  sent  him  his  dismissal,"  said  she,  looking 
at  her  husband  with  an  expression  of  cunning  roguery.  "  M. 
Botot  could  no  longer,  as  he  has  hitherto  been — without, 
however,  being  conscious  of  it — be  my  spy  in  the  Directory ; 
1  could  no  longer  learn  from  him  what  the  Directory  were 
undertaking  against  my  Bonaparte,  against  the  hero  whom 
'they  envy  and  caluminate  so  much,  nor  in  what  new  snares 
they  wished  to  entangle  him !  What  had  I  to  do  with  Bo- 
tot, since  he  could  not  furnish  me  news  of  the  intrigues  of 
your  enemies,  nor  afford  me  the  chance  of  counteracting 
them  ?  Charles  Botot  was  nothing  more  to  me  than  a  mere 
lemon,  which  I  squeezed  for  your  sake ;  when  there  was 
nothing  left  in  it  I  threw  it  away." 

"And  is  such  the  truth?"   asked  Bonaparte,  eagerly. 


380  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

*'  This  is  no  invention  to  raise  my  hopes,  only  to  be  cast 
down  again  ?  " 

Josephine  smiled.  "  I  have  daily  taken  notes  of  what 
Charles  Botot  brought  me,"  said  she,  gently;  "I  always 
hoped  to  find  a  safe  opportunity  to  send  this  diary  to  you 
in  Egypt,  that  you  might  be  informed  of  what  the  Directory 
thought,  and  what  was  the  public  opinion,  so  that  you  might 
take  your  measures  accordingly.  But,  for  the  last  eight 
months,  I  knew  not  where  you  were,  and  so  I  have  kept  my 
diary  :  here  it  is." 

She  gave  the  diary  to  Bonaparte,  who,  with  impatient 
looks,  ran  over  the  pages,  and  was  fully  convinced  of  her 
devotedness  and  care.  Josephine  had  well  served  his  in- 
terests, and  closely  watched  over  his  affairs.  Then,  ashamed 
and  repentant,  he  looked  at  her,  who,  in  return,  smiled  at 
him  with  gracious  complacency. 

"  Josephine,"  asked  he,  quietly, "  can  you  forgive  me  ?  I 
have  been  foolish,'  but  I  swear  to  you  that  never  again  will  I 
mistrust  you,  I  will  believe  no  one  but  you.  Can  you  for- 
give me  ?  " 

She  embraced  him  in  her  arms,  and  tenderly  said :  "  Love 
me,  Bonaparte ;  I  well  deserve  it !  " 

Peace,  therefore,  was  re-established,  and  Josephine's  ene- 
mies had  the  bitter  disappointment  to  see  that  their  efforts 
had  all  been  in  vain ;  that  again  the  most  perfect  unanimity 
and  affection  existed  between  them ;  that  the  cloud  which 
their  enmity  had  conjured  up,  had  brought  forth  but  a  few 
tear-drops,  a  few  thunderings;  and  that  the  love  which 
Bonaparte  carried  in  his  heart  for  Josephine  was  not  scat- 
tered into  atoms. 

The  cloud  had  passed  away ;  the  sun  of  happiness  had 
reappeared ;  but  it  had  yet  some  spots  which  were  never  to 
fade  away.  The  word  "  separation "  which  Bonaparte,  so 
often  in  Egypt,  and  now  in  Paris,  had  launched  against 
Josephine,  was  to  be  henceforth  the  sword  of  Damocles, 


THE  EIGHTEENTH  BRUMAIRE.  381 

ever  suspended  over  her  head  :  like  a  dark,  shadowy  spectre 
it  was  to  follow  her  everywhere ;  even  amid  Sbenes  of  happi- 
ness, joy,  and  glory,  it  was  to  be  there  to  terrify  her  by  its 
sinister  presence,  and  by  its  gloomy  warnings  of  the  past  I 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE   EIGHTEENTH   BRUMAIRE. 

Bonaparte's  journey  from  Fr^jus  to  Paris,  on  his  return 
from  Egypt,  had  been  a  continued  triumph.  All  France 
had  applauded  him.  Everywhere  he  had  been  welcomed  as 
a  deliverer  and  savior ;  everywhere  he  had  been  hailed  as 
the  hope  of  the  future,  as  the  man  from  whom  was  to  be 
expected  assistance  in  distress,  the  restoration  of  peace,  help, 
and  salvation. 

For  France  was  alarmed ;  she  stood  on  the  edge  of  a 
precipice,  from  which  only  the  strong  hand  of  a  hero  could 
save  her.  In  the  interior,  anarchy  prevailed  amongst  the 
authorities  as  well  as  the  people.  In  La  Vendee  civil  war 
raged,  with  all  its  sanguinary  horrors,  and  the  authorities 
endeavored  to  protect  themselves  against  it  by  tyrannical 
laws,  by  despotic  measures,  which  threatened  both  property 
and  freedom.  There  existed  no  security  either  for  person 
or  for  property,  and  a  horrible,  fanatical  party-spirit  pene- 
trated all  classes  of  society.  The  royalists  had  been  defeated 
on  the  18th  Fructidor,  but  that  very  fact  had  again  given 
the  vantage-ground  to  the  most  decided  opponents  of  the 
royalists,  the  red  republicans,  the  terrorists  of  the  past,  who 
now  intrigued  and  formed  plots  and  counterplots,  even  as 
the  royalists  had  done.  They  sought  to  create  enmity  and 
bitterness  amongst  the  people,  and  hoped  to  re-establish  on 


382  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

the  ruins  of  the  present  administration  the  days  of  terror 
and  of  the  guillotine. 

These  red  republicans,  ever  ready  for  the  struggle,  or- 
ganized themselves  into  clubs  and  "  constitutional  circles," 
where  the  ruin  of  the  actual  state  of  things,  and  the  severe 
and  bloody  republic  of  Robespierre,  formed  the  substance  of 
their  harangues;  and  their  numbers  were  constantly  in- 
creased by  new  members  being  sworn  in. 

The  ballot  in  May,  1799,  had  been  in  favor  of  the  Direct- 
ory, and  unfavorable  to  the  moderate  party,  for  only  fanat- 
ical republicans  had  been  elected  to  the  Council  of  Five 
Hundred. 

Against  these  factions  and  republican  clubs  the  Directory 
had  to  make  a  perpetual  war ;  but  their  power  and  means 
failed  to  give  them  the  victory  in  the  strife.  It  was  a  con- 
stant oscillation  and  vacillation,  a  constant  compromising 
and  capitulating  with  all  parties — and  the  natural  conse- 
quence was,  that  these  parties,  as  soon  as  they  had  secured 
the  ear  of  the  Directory,  and  gained  an  advantage,  strove 
hard  to  obtain  the  ruling  authority.  Corruption  and  mis- 
trust universally  prevailed.  Every  thing  had  the  appear- 
ance of  dissolution  and  disorder.  Highwaymen  rendered 
the  roads  unsafe ;  and  the  authorities,  instead  of  carrying 
out  the  severity  of  the  law,  were  so  corrupt  and  avaricious 
as  to  sell  their  silence  and  indulgence.  The  upright  citizen 
sighed  under  the  weight  of  tyrannical  laws  from  which  the 
thief  and  the  seditious  knew  how  to  escape. 

The  nation,  reduced  to  despair  by  this  arbitrary  rule  and 
corniption,  longed  for  some  one  to  deliver  it  from  this  dread- 
ful state  of  dissolution ;  and  the  enthusiasm  which  was  mani- 
fested at  the  return  of  General  Bonaparte,  was  a  confession 
that  in  him  the  people  foresaw  and  recognized  a  deliverer. 
Exhausted  and  wearied,  France  sought  for  a  man  v/ho  would 
restore  to  her  peace  again — who  would  crush  the  foes  within, 
and  drive  away  the  enemy  from  without. 


THE  EIGHTEENTH  BRUMAIRE.  383 

Bonaparte  appeared  to  the  people  with  all  the  prestige 
of  his  former  and  recent  victories ;  he  had  planted  the  vic- 
torious French  tricolor  upon  the  summit  of  the  capitol,  and 
of  the  pyramids  ;  he  had  given  to  France  the  most  accept- 
able of  presents,  "  glory ; "  he  had  adorned  her  brow  with  so 
many  laurels,  that  he  himself  seemed  to  the  people  as  if  radi- 
ant with  glory.  All  felt  the  need  of  a  hero,  of  a  dictator,  to 
put  an  end  to  the  prevailing  anarchy  and  disturbances,  and 
they  knew  that  Bonaparte  was  the  only  one  who  could  achieve 
this  gigantic  work. 

Bonaparte  understood  but  too  well  these  applauding  and 
welcoming  voices  of  the  people,  and  his  own  breast  responded 
favorably  to  them.  The  secret  thoughts  of  his  heart  were 
now  to  be  turned  into  deeds,  and  the  ambitious  dreams  of 
his  earlier  days  were  to  become  realities.  All  that  he  had 
hitherto  wanted  was  a  bridge  to  throw  over  the  abyss  which 
separated  the  republicans,  the  defenders  of  liberty,  equality, 
and  fraternity,  from  rule,  power,  and  dictatorship.  Anarchy 
and  exhaustion  laid  down  this  bridge,  and  on  the  18th  Bru- 
maire,  General  Bonaparte,  the  hero  of  "  liberal  ideas,"  passed 
over  it  to  exalt  himself  into  dictator,  consul,  emperor,  and 
tyrant  of  France. 

But  the  Directory  also  understood  the  voices  of  the  ap- 
plauding people ;  they  also  saw  in  him  the  man  who  had 
come  to  deprive  them  of  power  and  to  assume  their  author- 
ity. This  was  secretly  yet  violently  discussed  by  the  Direct- 
ory, the  Council  of  the  Elders,  and  of  the  Five  Hundred. 

One  day,  at  a  dinner  given  to  a  few  friends  by  the  Abbe 
Sieyds,  one  of  the  members  of  the  Directory,  the  abbe,  Caba- 
nis,  and  Joseph  Bonaparte,  were  conversing  together,  stand- 
ing on  the  side  of  the  drawing-room,  near  the  chimney.  It 
was  conceded  that  undoubtedly  a  crisis  was  near  at  hand, 
that  the  republic  had  now  reached  its  limit,  and  that,  instead 
of  five  directors,  only  three  would  be  elected,  and  that,  with- 
out any  doubt,  Bonaparte  would  be  one  of  the  three. 


884  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

"  Yes,"  cried  Siey^s,  with  animation,  "  I  am  for  General 
Bonaparte,  for  of  all  military  men  he  is  the  most  civil ;  but 
then  I  know  very  well  what  is  in  reserve  for  me  :  once  elected, 
the  general,  casting  aside  his  two  colleagues,  will  do  as  I  do 
now."  And  Siey^s,  standing  between  Canabis  and  Joseph, 
placed  his  two  arms  on  their  shoulders,  then,  pushing  them 
with  a  powerful  jerk,  he  leaped  forward  and  bounded  into 
the  middle  of  the  room,  to  the  great  astonishment  of  his 
guests,  who  knew  not  the  cause  of  this  gymnastic  perform- 
ance of  the  abbe.* 

The  other  directors  were  also  conscious  of  this  movement 
of  Bonaparte,  and  they  secretly  resolved  to  save  themselves 
by  causing  his  ruin.  Either  the  Directory  or  Bonaparte 
had  to  fall !  One  had  to  perish,  that  the  other  might  have 
the  power !  In  order  that  the  Directory  might  exist,  Bona- 
parte must  fall. 

The  Directory  had  secretly  come  to  this  conclusion  on 
Bonaparte's  return.  They  were  fully  aware  that  a  daring 
act  alone  could  save  them,  and  they  were  determined  not  to 
shrink  from  it. 

The  deed  was  to  take  place  on  the  2d  Brumaire.  On 
that  day  he  was  to  be  arrested,  and  accused  of  having  pre- 
meditated a  coup  d'etat  against  the  Directory.  Indeed,  one 
M.  de  Mounier  had  come  to  Director  Gohier  and  had  de- 
nounced Bonaparte,  whom  he  positively  knew  was  conspir- 
ing to  destroy  the  existing  government.  Gohier  received 
these  accusations  with  much  gravity,  and  sent  at  once  for 
the  other  directors  to  hasten  to  him,  but  only  one,  Moulins, 
was  then  in  Paris  to  answer  Gohier's  summons.  He  came, 
and  after  a  long  conference  both  directors  agreed  that  the 
next  day  they  would  have  Bonaparte  arrested  on  his  return 
to  Paris  from  Malmaison,  where  they  knew  he  was  to  give  a 
large  banquet  that  day.    They  sent  for  the  chief  of  police, 

♦  "  M^moires  du  Roi  Joseph,"  vol.  i.,  p.  Tl 


THE  EIGHTEENTH  BRUMAIRE.  335 

and  quietly  gave  him  the  order  to  station  himself  the  next 
day  with  twelve  resolute  men  on  the  road  to  Malmaison, 
and  to  arrest  Bonaparte  as  he  should  drive  that  evening 
toward  Paris. 

On  this  very  day  Josephine,  who  did  not  wish  to  be  pres- 
ent at  the  banquet  of  gentlemen  in  Malmaison,  had  come  to 
Paris  to  attend  a  party  at  the  house  of  one  of  her  friends. 
The  conversation  went  on ;  they  talked  and  jested,  when  a 
gentleman  near  Josephine  told  a  friend  that  some  striking 
event  would  probably  take  place  that  day  in  Paris,  for  he 
had  just  now  met  a  friend  who  held  an  important  office  in 
the  police.  He  had  invited  him  to  go-  to  the  theatre,  but 
he  declined,  stating  that  he  was  to  be  on  duty  this  evening, 
as  some  important  affair  was  about  being  transacted — the 
arrest,  as  he  thought,  of  some  influential  personage. 

Josephine's  heart  trembled  with  horrible  misgivings  at 
these  words.  Love's  instinct  convinced  her  that  her  hus- 
band was  the  one  to  be  arrested,  and  she  thought  within 
herself  that  it  was  Destiny  itself  which  sent  her  this  intel- 
ligence, that  she  might  save  her  husband  from  the  fearful 
blow  which  awaited  him.  Thus  persuaded,  she  gathered  all 
her  strength  and  presence  of  mind,  and  determined  to  act 
with  energy,  and  battle  against  the  enemies  of  her  husband. 

Without  betraying  the  slightest  emotion,  or  exciting  any 
suspicion  that  she  had  heard  or  noticed  what  was  said,  Jo- 
sephine rose  from  her  seat  with  a  cheerful  and  composed 
countenance,  and  pleasantly  took  leave  of  the  lady  of  the 
house.  But  once  past  the  threshold  of  the  house,  once  in 
her  carriage,  her  anxious  nature  woke  up  again,  and  she  be- 
gan to  act  with  energy  and  resolution.  She  pulled  the  string, 
to  give  her  directions  to  the  driver.  As  fast  as  the  horses 
could  speed,  he  was  to  drive  his  mistress  to  Colonel  Perrin, 
the  commanding  officer  of  the  guards  of  the  Directory.  In 
ten  minutes  she  was  there,  and  knowing  well  how  devoted  a 
guard  he  and  all  his  soldiers  would  be  to  Bonaparte,  she 


386  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

communicated  to  him  her  fears,  and  requested  from  him 
immediate  and  speedy  assistance  to  remove  the  danger. 

Colonel  Perrin  was  prepared  to  enter  into  her  plans,  and 
he  promised  to  send  to  Malmaison  a  company  of  grenadiers, 
provided  she  would,  as  soon  as  possible,  have  General  Murat 
send  him  an  order  to  that  effect.  Josephine  at  once  went 
to  one  of  her  true,  reliable  friends,  who  belonged  to  the 
Council  of  the  Elders,  and,  making  him  acquainted  with 
the  danger  which  threatened  her  husband,  requested  him  to 
gather  a  few  devoted  friends,  and  to  attend  to  the  orders 
which  Murat  would  send  them. 

After  having  made  all  these  preparations,  Josephine  drove 
in  full  gallop  toward  Malmaison. 

The  dinner,  to  which  Bonaparte  had  invited  gentlemen 
from  all  classes  of  society,  was  just  over,  and  the  guests  were 
scattered,  some  in  the  drawing-rooms,  and  some  in  the  gar- 
den, where  Bonaparte  was  walking  up  and  down  in  animated 
conversation  with  the  secretary,  Roger  Ducos. 

At  this  moment  the  carriage  of  Josephine  drove  into  the 
yard ;  and  Murat,  who,  with  a  few  gentlemen,  stood  under 
the  porch,  hastened  to  offer  his  hand  so  as  to  help  Josephine 
to  alight.  An  eye-witness  who  was  present  at  this  scene  re- 
lates as  follows : 

" '  Where  is  the  general  ? '  asked  Josephine,  hastily,  of 
General  Murat. 

" '  I  do  not  know,'  was  the  answer ;  '  he  is  gone  with 
Roger,  but  Lucien  is  here.' 

"  '  Look  at  once  for  the  general ! '  exclaimed  Josephine, 
breathless,  '  I  must  speak  to  him  immediately.' 

"  I  approached  her  and  said  that  he  was  in  the  garden. 
She  ran — she  flew  !  I  placed  myself  at  a  window  in  the  first 
story,  from  which  I  could  easily  see  into  the  garden-walks. 
My  expectations  had  not  deceived  me. 

"  No  sooner  did  Bonaparte  see  Josephine  approach,  than 
he  left  Roger  Ducos  and  hurried  to  meet  her.     Both  then 


THE  EIGHTEENTH  BRUMAIRE.  387 

walked  into  a  path  near  by.  I  could  see  them  well.  Jose- 
phine spoke  with  animation ;  the  general  walked  on ;  now 
and  then  she  held  him  back.  At  last  they  took  the  path 
leading  to  the  castle.  I  went  down  to  meet  them  on  the 
steps  near  the  door. 

"  Madame  Bonaparte  held  her  husband  by  the  left  hand. 
Her  animated,  expressive  features  had  a  bewitching  pride 
and  softness ;  it  was  a  most  delightful  admixture  of  tender- 
ness and  heroism.  Bonaparte  looked  around,  pale  and  grave, 
but  his  eyes  ever  rested  with  pleasure  on  his  wife.  She  re- 
fused to  enter  into  the  large  hall,  and  retired  to  her  room. 
Bonaparte  called  for  Koger,  and  entered  the  saloon  with 
him.  His  guests  were  awaiting  his  arrival,  to  take  their 
leave.  The  carriages  drove  up,  and  the  gentlemen  left  Mal- 
maison  to  return  to  Paris.  Only  Lucien  and  Murat  remained 
with  Bonaparte ;  Madame  Bonaparte  joined  them  as  they 
entered  the  vestibule.    When  she  saw  Murat,  she  exclaimed  : 

"  '  How,  general,  you  still  here ! — Do  you  not  consider,' 
continued  she,  turning  to  Bonaparte,  '  that  Murat  ought  to 
be  already  in  Paris  with  Perrin  ? — Away !  quick !  to  horse, 
to  the  Rue  Varennes,  or  I  drive  thither  myself.' 

"  Murat  laughed ;  but  four  minutes  after  he  was  riding 
at  a  gallop  on  the  road  to  the  city.  The  three  others  re- 
turned to  their  rooms.  I  was  curious  to  know  what  was  the 
conversation ;  but  as  I  had  nothing  more  to  do  in  the  castle, 
I  was  about  leaping  on  my  horse  to  ride  to  Paris,  when  I 
saw  a  detachment  of  infantry  marching  toward  the  castle. 

"  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  announce  them  to  the  general ; 
he  sat  between  his  wife  and  his  brother.  '  How  ! '  cried  he, 
as  he  rose  up  hastily.     '  Troops  ? ' 

"  '  What  of  them  ? '  answered  Madame  Bonaparte,  smil- 
ing. '  Your  company  has  left  you,  now  comes  mine.  It  is 
a  rendezvous ;  but  be  comforted — they  are  not  too  many.' 

"  All  three  walked  into  the  yard,  where  the  troops  were 
placing  themselves  in  line  without  the  sound  of  a  drum. 


388  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

"*You  are  an  extraordinary  man,  sir,'  said  Madame 
Bonaparte  to  the  captain.     '  Nearly  as  soon  as  I  ? ' 

" '  Madame,'  replied  the  ofl&eer,  '  we  have  been  ready  for 
the  march  these  four  hours.' 

"  The  officers  followed  the  general  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  refreshments  were  distributed  to  the  soldiers ;  it 
was  a  company  of  grenadiers. 

"  At  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  a  courier  arrived,  bear- 
ing dispatches  to  Bonaparte.  At  once  he,  his  wife,  and  his 
brother,  drove  to  Paris.  The  grenadiers  were  ordered  to 
follow  immediately  and  in  silence."  * 

These  dispatches,  which  Bonaparte  had  received  from 
Paris,  brought  him  the  news  that  this  time  the  danger  was 
over — that  the  directors  had  abandoned  their  plan.  Some 
fortunate  accident  may  have  warned  them,  even  as  Jose- 
phine herself  had  been  warned.  The  spies  who  everywhere 
tracked  Josephine,  as  well  as  Bonaparte,  had  carried  to 
Gohier  intelligence  of  all  the  strange  movements  of  the 
wife  of  Bonaparte,  and  the  director  at  once  perceived  that 
she  was  informed  of  the  danger  which  threatened  her  hus- 
band, and  that  she  was  bent  upon  preventing  it. 

But  now  that  the  plan  of  the  directors  had  been  un- 
veiled, danger  threatened  them  in  their  turn,  and  they  im- 
mediately adopted  measures  to  face  this  new  peril.  In 
place  of  Bonaparte,  they  must  find  some  one  whom  they 
could  arrest,  without  withdrawing  their  orders.  They 
found  a  substitute  in  a  wealthy  merchant  from  Hamburg, 
who  now  resided  in  Paris.  Gohier  had  him  arrested,  and 
accused  him  of  having  had  relations  with  the  enemies  of 
France. 

Bonaparte  assumed  the  appearance  of  having  no  doubts 
as  to  the  sincerity  of  Gohier,  of  suspecting  nothing  as  to  his 
own  arrest,  which  had  been  prevented  by  the  timely  and 

*  "  M^moires  secretes,"  vol.  i.,  p.  26. 


THE  EIGHTEENTH  BRUMAIRE.  389 

energetic  action  of  Josephine.  He  thanked  her  with  in- 
creased tenderness  for  her  love  and  faithfulness,  and  as  he 
pressed  her  affectionately  to  his  breast,  he  swore  to  her  that 
he  would  never  again  doubt  her ;  that  he  would,  by  the 
most  unreserved  confidence,  share  with  her  his  schemes  and 
designs,  and  that  henceforth  he  would  look  upon  her  as  the 
good  angel  who  watched  over  the  pathway  of  his  life. 

And  Bonaparte  kept  his  word.  From  this  day  his  Jose- 
phine was  not  only  his  wife,  but  his  confidante,  his  friend, 
who  knew  all  his  plans,  and  who  could  assist  him  with  her 
advice  and  her  exquisite  practical  tact.  She  it  was  who 
brought  about  a  reconciliation  with  Moreau  and  Bernadotte ; 
and  by  her  amiable  nature,  attractive  and  dignified  manner, 
and  great  social  talents,  she  bound  even  his  friends  closer  to 
Bonaparte ;  or  with  a  smile,  a  kind  word,  some  flattering 
observation,  or  some  of  those  little  attentions  which  often- 
times tell  more  effectually  with  those  who  receive  them  than 
great  services,  she  would  often  win  over  to  him  his  foes  and 
opponents. 

"  It  is  known  but  to  few  persons,"  says  the  author  of 
the  "  Memoires  secretes,"  "  that  Bonaparte  always  consulted 
his  wife  in  civil  matters,  even  when  they  were  of  the  highest 
importance.  This  fact  is  entirely  true,  but  Bonaparte  would 
have  been  extremely  mortified  had  he  known  that  those 
around  him  suspected  it.  Had  it  been  possible  for  me  to 
divide  my  being,  with  what  delight  I  should  have  followed 
this  noble  woman !  I  would  relate  a  few  traits  of  hers  if  I 
did  not  know  that  M.  D.  B.,  who  is  much  better  acquainted 
with  her  than  I,  is  to  write  a  biography.*  I  know  not 
what  were  the  events  of  the  first  years  of  Madame  de  Beau- 
hamais,  but  if  they  were  like  those  of  her  last  fifteen  years, 

*  The  "  Memoires  secretes "  appeared  in  1815.  The  biography 
spoken  of  by  the  author  is  probably  that  of  Madame  Ducrest,  and 
which  appeared  in  1818. 


390  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

we  should  have  the  history  of  a  perfect  woman.  She  has 
known  but  little  of  me,  and  therefore  no  interested  motive 
guides  my  pen,  no  other  sentiment  than  that  of  truth."  * 

The  2d  Brumaire  afforded  suflficient  reasons  for  Bona- 
parte to  put  into  execution  his  resolutions.  He  now  knew 
the  enmity  of  the  Directory ;  he  knew  he  must  cause  their 
downfall  if  he  himself  did  not  wish  to  be  destroyed  by  them. 
He  knew  that,  during  his  last  triumphal  journey  through 
France,  he  had  heard  sufficient  to  convince  him  that  the 
Yoice  of  the  people  was  for  him,  that  every  one  longed  for  a 
change,  that  France  was  heartily  wearied  of  revolutionary 
commotions,  and  above  all  things  craved  for  rest  and  peace ; 
that  it  wished  to  lay  aside  all  political  strife,  and,  like  him, 
preferred  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  a  republican  ma- 
jority. 

"  Every  one  desires  a  more  central  government,"  said 
Napoleon  to  his  brother  Joseph.  "  Our  dreams  of  a  repub- 
lic are  the  illusions  of  youth.  Since  the  9th  Thermidor  the 
republican  party  has  dwindled  away  more  and  more ;  the 
efforts  of  the  Bourbons  and  the  foreigners,  coupled  with  the 
memories  of  '93,  have  called  forth  against  the  republican 
system  an  imposing  majority.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the 
13th  Vendemiaire  and  the  18th  Fructidor,  this  majority 
would  long  ago  have  won  the  ascendency ;  the  weaknesses, 
the  imperiousness  of  the  Directory,  have  done  the  rest. 
To-day  the  people  are  turning  their  hopes  toward  me,  to- 
morrow it  will  be  toward  some  one  else." 

Bonaparte  did  not  wish  to  wait  until  to-morrow.  He 
had  made  all  his  preparations  ;  he  had  made  sure  of  his  gen- 
erals and  officers ;  he  knew  also  that  the  soldiers  were  for 
him,  and  that  it  required  but  a  signal  from  him  to  bring 
about  the  catastrophe. 

He  gave  the  signal  by  inviting  on  the  18th  Brumaire,  to 

*  "  M6moires  secretes,"  vol.  i.,  p.  86. 


THE  EIGHTEENTH  BRUMAIRE.  391 

a  dejeuner  in  his  house,  all  his  confidants  and  friends,  all 
the  generals  and  superior  ofl&cers,  and  also  the  commanding 
general  of  the  National  Guards.  Nearly  all  of  them  came 
at  this  invitation ;  only  General  Bernadotte  kept  aloof,  as 
he  perceived  that  the  breakfast  had  other  objects  than  to 
converse  and  to  eat.  Sieyds  and  Ducos  were  the  only  direct- 
ors who  made  their  appearance ;  Gohier,  that  morning,  had 
sent  to  Bonaparte  an  invitation  to  dinner,  so  as  to  deceive 
the  more  securely  him  whom  he  knew  was  his  enemy ;  Bar- 
ras  and  Moulins,  suspecting  Bonaparte's  schemes,  remained 
in  the  background,  silently  awaiting  the  result. 

While  the  guests  were  assembling  in  Bonaparte's  house, 
and  filling  all  the  space  in  it,  a  friend  and  confidant  of  Bona- 
parte, in  the  Council  of  the  Elders,  made  the  following  mo- 
tion :  "  In  consideration  of  the  intense  political  excitement 
which  prevails  in  Paris,  it  is  necessary  to  remove  the  ses- 
sions to  St.  Cloud,  and  to  give  to  General  Bonaparte  the 
supreme  command  of  the  troops." 

After  a  violent  debate,  the  motion  was  suddenly  adopted ; 
and,  when  it  was  brought  to  Bonaparte,  he  saw  that  the 
moment  for  action  had  come. 

He  told  all  those  about  him  that  at  last  the  time  was  at 
hand  to  restore  to  France  rest  and  peace,  that  he  was  de- 
cided to  do  this,  and  he  called  upon  them  to  follow  him. 
Every  one  was  ready,  and,  surrounded  by  a  brilliant  suite, 
Bonaparte  went  first  to  the  Council  of  the  Elders,  to  ex- 
press his  thanks  for  his  nomination,  and  solemnly  to  swear 
that  he  would  adopt  every  measure  necessary  to  save  the 
country. 

Immediately  after  this  he  went  to  the  Tuileries  to  hold 
a  review  of  the  troops  stationed  there.  The  soldiers  and  the 
people,  who  had  streamed  thither  in  masses  to  see  him,  re- 
ceived him  with  loud  acclamations,  assuring  him  of  their 
loyalty  and  devotedness. 

No  one  this  day  rose  in  favor  of  the  deputies,  no  one 
20 


392  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

seemed  to  desire  that  their  sittings  should  as  heretofore  take 
place  in  Paris,  nor  to  think  that  force  would  have  to  be 
used  to  remove  them. 

The  palace  of  Luxemburg,  in  which  their  sittings  had 
hitherto  taken  place,  and  St.  Cloud,  in  which  they  were  to 
meet  in  the  future,  were  both,  by  orders  of  Bonaparte,  sur- 
rounded with  troops,  and  the  deputies  as  well  as  the  Coun- 
cil of  the  Elders  adjourned  that  very  day  to  St.  Cloud. 

Moulins  and  Gohier  alone  had  the  courage  to  offer  oppo- 
sition, and,  in  a  letter  to  the  Council  of  the  Elders,  to  de- 
scribe Bonaparte  as  a  criminal,  who  threatened  the  republic, 
and  to  demand  of  them  his  arrest ;  and  also  that  they  should 
immediately  decree  that  the  republic  was  in  danger,  and 
that  it  must  be  defended  with  all  energy.  But  this  letter 
fell  into  Bonaparte's  hands ;  and  the  directors,  when  they 
saw  that  their  request  was  unheeded,  resigned,  as  Barras  had 
done. 

The  republic  now  had  but  two  legitimate  rulers,  Siey^s 
and  Ducos ;  and  at  their  side  stood  Bonaparte,  soon  to  ex- 
alt himself  above  them. 

The  following  day,  the  19th  Brumaire,  was  actually  the 
decisive  day.  The  Five  Hundred,  who  now,  like  the  Coun- 
cil of  the  Elders,  held  their  deliberations  in  St.  Cloud,  were 
discussing  under  great  excitement  the  abdication  of  the 
Directory  and  the  necessity  of  a  new  election.  The  debates 
were  so  vehement  and  so  full  of  passion  that  the  president, 
Lucien  Bonaparte,  could  not  command  order.  A  wild  up- 
roar arose,  and  at  this  moment  Napoleon  entered  the  hall. 
Every  one  rushed  at  him  with  wild  frenzy ;  and  the  most 
violent  recriminations  were  launched  at  him.  "He  is  a 
traitor  !  "  they  cried  out.  "  He  is  a  Cromwell,  who  wants 
to  seize  the  sovereign  power  ! "  What  Bonaparte  had  never 
experienced  on  the  battle-field,  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight, 
he  now  felt.  He  became  bewildered  by  this  violent  strife 
of  words,  by  this  hailstorm  of  accusations  which  whiz^jed 


THE  EIGHTEENTH  BRUMAIRE.  393 

around  his  ears.  He  tried  to  speak ;  he  tried  to  address  the 
audience,  but  he  could  not — he  could  merely  give  utterance 
to  a  few  broken  sentences ;  he  made  charges  against  the 
Directory,  with  assurances  of  his  own  loyalty  and  devoted- 
ness,  which  the  audience  received  with  loud  murmurs,  and 
then  with  wild  shouts.  Bonaparte  became  more  embar- 
rassed and  bewildered.  Suddenly  turning  toward  the  door 
of  the  hall,  he  exclaimed,  "  Who  loves  me,  let  him  follow 
me ! "  and  he  walked  out  hastily. 

The  soldiers  outside  received  him  with  great  cheers,  and 
this  brought  back  Bonaparte's  presence  of  mind.  "  Gen- 
eral," whispered  Augereau,  as  they  mounted  their  horses, 
"  you  are  in  a  critical  position." 

"  Think  of  Areola,"  replied  Bonaparte,  calmly.  "  There 
the  position  seemed  still  more  critical.  Have  patience  for 
half  an  hour,  and  you  will  see  how  things  change." 

Bonaparte  made  good  use  of  this  half  hour.  At  its  ex- 
piration he  re-entered  the  hall  of  deliberation  of  the  Five 
Hundred,  surrounded  by  his  officers,  at  the  very  moment 
when,  on  a  motion  of  a  member,  they  were  renewing  their 
oaths  to  the  constitution.  Again  they  received  him  with 
shouts :  "  Down  with  the  tyrant ! — down  with  the  dictator  ! 
The  sanctity  of  the  law  is  violated !  Death  to  the  tyrant 
who  brings  soldiers  here  to  do  us  violence  !  " 

One  of  the  deputies  rushed  upon  Bonaparte  and  seized 
Mm,  but  at  that  instant  the  grenadiers  also  entered  the 
room,  delivered  their  general,  and  carried  him  in  triumph 
out  of  the  hall. 

After  his  departure,  the  waves  of  wrath  and  political 
frenzy  rose  higher  and  higher.  Shouts  and  imprecations 
filled  the  room  with  confusion ;  reproaches  fell  on  all  sides 
upon  the  president,  Lucien  Bonaparte,  for  not  having  im- 
mediately ordered  the  arrest  of  the  traitor,  who  by  his  ap- 
pearance, as  well  as  by  his  armed  escort,  had  insulted  the 
assembly.     When  Lucien  endeavored  to  defend  Napoleon's 


894  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINK 

conduct,  he  was  interinpted  by  the  cries  :  "  He  is  a  stain  on 
the  republic  !  He  has  tarnished  his  reputation  !  "  Louder 
and  wilder  rose  the  cry  to  declare  Napoleon  an  outlaw.* 

Lucien  refused,  and,  as  they  urged  their  demand  with 
increjising  violence,  he  left  the  presidential  chair,  and  with 
deep  emotion  put  off  the  insignia  of  his  office — his  mantle 
and  his  sash — and  was  at  the  point  of  making  for  himself 
an  outlet  through  the  wild  crowd  pressing  in  frenzy  around 
him,  when  the  doors  opened,  and  a  company  of  grenadiers 
rushed  in,  who  by  main  force  carried  him  away  out  of  the 
hall. 

Lucien,  whom  Napoleon  awaited  outside  with  his  troops, 
immediately  mounted  his  horse,  and  in  this  moment  of 
deepest  danger  kept  his  presence  of  mind,  being  fully  aware 
that  he  must  now  be  decided  to  save  himself  and  his  brother 
or  perish  with  him.  He  turned  to  the  troops,  and  ordered 
them  to  protect  the  president  of  the  Five  Hundred,  to  de- 
fend the  constitution  attacked  by  a  few  fanatics,  and  to 
obey  General  Bonaparte,  who  was  empowered  by  the  Coun- 
cil of  the  Elders  to  arrest  the  seditious,  and  to  protect  the 
republic  and  its  laws. 

The  soldiers  answered  him  with  the  acclamation,  "  Long 
live  Bonaparte ! "  But  a  certain  shudder  was  visible.  A 
few  warning  voices  were  lifted  up  ;  they  thought  it  strange 
that  weapons  should  be  directed  against  the  representatives 
of  the  country. 

By  a  dramatic  action  Lucien  brought  the  matter  to  a 
close,  though  it  was  at  the  time  meant  by  him  in  all  sincer- 
ity. He  drew  his  sword,  and,  directing  its  point  toward 
Napoleon's  breast,  he  exclaimed :  "  I  swear  to  pierce  even 
my  brother's  heart  if  he  ever  dares  touch  the  liberty  of 
France  I " 

These  words  had  an  electric  effect ;  every  one  felt  in- 

•  "  M^moires  du  Roi  Joseph." 


THE  EIGHTEENTH  BRUMAIRE.  395 

spired,  lifted  up,  and  swore  to  obey  Bonaparte,  and  to  re- 
main loyal  to  him  even  unto  death.  At  a  sign  from  Na- 
poleon, Murat,  with  his  grenadiers,  dashed  into  the  hall  and 
drove  away  the  assembly  of  the  Five  Hundred.  At  ten 
o'clock  that  evening  St.  Cloud  was  vacant ;  only  a  few  dep- 
uties, like  homeless  night-birds,  wandered  around  the  pal- 
ace out  of  which  they  had  been  so  violently  ejected. 

In  the  interior  of  St.  Cloud,  Bonaparte  was  busy  prepar- 
ing for  the  people  -of  Paris  a  proclamation,  in  which  he  jus- 
tified his  deed,  and  repeated  the  sacred  assurance  "  that  he 
would  protect  liberty  and  the  republic  against  all  her  en- 
emies at  home  as  well  as  abroad."  When  this  was  done,  it 
was  necessary  to  think  of  giving  to  the  French  people  a 
new  government,  instead  of  the  one  which  had  been  broken 
up.  Napoleon  had  been  in  conference  until  the  dawn  of 
day  with  Talleyrand,  Koderer,  and  Siey^s.  Meanwhile 
Lucien  had  gathered  around  him  in  a  room  the  members 
of  the  Five  Hundred  who  were  devoted  to  him,  and  had  re- 
sumed the  presidential  chair;  Napoleon's  friends  among 
the  members  of  the  Council  of  the  Elders  also  gathered  to- 
gether, and  both  assemblies  issued  a  decree,  in  which  they 
declared  there  was  no  longer  a  Directory,  and  in  which 
they  excluded  from  the  assembly  as  rebellious  and  factious 
a  vast  number  of  deputies.  And  more,  they  decreed  the 
nomination  of  a  provisional  commission,  and  decided  that 
it  should  consist  of  three  members,  who  should  bear  the 
title  of  Consuls  of  the  Kepublic,  and  they  appointed  as  con- 
suls Sieyes,  Ducos,  and  Bonaparte. 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  every  thing  was  ready, 
and  Napoleon,  accompanied  by  Bourrienne,  went  to  Paris. 
He  had  reached  his  goal ;  he  was  at  the  head  of  the  admin- 
istration, but  his  countenance  betrayed  no  joyous  excite- 
ment ;  he  was  taciturn  and  pensive,  and  during  the  whole 
journey  to  Paris  he  spoke  not  a  word,  but  quietly  leaned  in 
a  corner  of  the  carriage.    Perhaps  he  dreamed  of  a  great  and 


8^  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE, 

brilliant  future ;  perhaps  he  was  busy  with  the  thought  how 
he  could  ascend  higher  on  this  ladder  to  a  throne,  whose 
first  step  he  had  now  ascended,  since  he  had  exalted  him- 
self into  a  consul  of  the  republic. 

Not  till  he  arrived  at  his  residence  in  the  Rue  de  la 
Victoire  did  Bonaparte's  cheerfulness  return,  when,  with 
countenance  beaming  with  joy,  and  followed  by  Bourrienne, 
he  hastened  to  Josephine,  who,  exhausted  by  anxiety  and 
care  during  this  day  full  of  danger,  had  finally  gone  to 
rest.  Near  her  bed  Bonaparte  sank  into  an  arm-chair,  and, 
gazing  at  her  and  seizing  her  hand,  he  turned  smilingly  to 
Bourrienne : 

"  Is  it  not  true,"  said  he — "  I  said  many  foolish  things  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  general,  that  cannot  be  denied,"  replied 
Bourrienne,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  while  Josephine  broke 
out  into  loud,  joyous  laughter. 

"  I  would  sooner  speak  to  soldiers  than  to  lawyers,"  said 
Bonaparte,  cheerfully.  "These  honorable  fools  made  me 
timid.  I  am  not  accustomed  to  speak  to  an  audience — but 
that  will  come  in  time." 

With  affectionate  sympathy  Josephine  requested  him  to 
relate  in  detail  all  the  events  of  the  day ;  and  she  listened 
with  breathless  attention  to  the  descriptions  which  Bona- 
parte made  in  his  own  terse,  brief,  and  lucid  manner. 

"And  Gohier?"  said  she,  at  last — "  you  know  I  love  his 
wife,  and  when  you  were  in  Egpyt  he  was  ever  kind  and 
attentive  to  me.  You  will  not  touch  him,  will  you,  mon 
ami  ?  " 

Bonaparte  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  What  of  it,  my 
love?  "  said  he  ;  "it  is  not  my  fault  if  he  is  pushed  aside. 
Why  has  he  not  wished  it  otherwise?  He  is  a  good- 
natured  man,  but  a  blockhead.  He  does  not  understand 
me.  ...  I  would  do  much  better  to  have  him  trans- 
ported. He  wrote  against  me  to  the  Council  of  the  Elders, 
but  his  letter  fell  into  my  hands,  and  the  council  has  heard 


THE  EIGHTEENTH  BRUMAIRE.  397 

nothing  of  it.  The  unfortunate  man  !  .  .  .  .  Yesterday  he 
expected  me  to  dinner.  .  .  .  And  that  is  called  statesman- 
ship.  .   .   .    Let  us  speak  no  more  of  this  matter."  * 

Then  he  began  to  relate  to  his  Josephine  how  Bema- 
dotte  had  acted,  refusing  to  take  any  part  in  the  events  of 
the  day,  and  how,  when  Bonaparte  had  requested  him  at 
least  to  undertake  nothing  against  him,  he  answered  :  "As 
a  citizen,  I  will  keep  quiet ;  but  if  the  Directory  gives  me 
the  order  to  act,  I  will  fight  against  every  disturber  of  the 
peace  and  every  conspirator,  whoever  he  may  be." 

Bonaparte  then  suddenly  turned  to  Bourrienne  to  dis- 
miss him,  that  he  might  himself  take  some  rest ;  and  when 
he  extended  his  hand  to  bid  him  farewell,  he  added,  care- 
lessly : 

"Apropos,  to-morrow  we  sleep  in  the  Luxemburg."  It 
was  decided  ! — the  long-premeditated  deed  was  done  !  With 
the  18th  Brumaire,  Bonaparte  had  made  an  important  step 
forward  on  the  path  of  fame  and  power  whose  end  was  seen 
by  him  alone. 

Bonaparte  was  no  longer  a  general  receiving  orders 
from  a  superior  authority  ;  he  was  no  longer  the  servant  of 
the  Directory;  but  he  was  now  the  one  who  would  give 
orders — he  was  the  master  and  ruler  ;  he  stood  at  the  head 
of  the  French  nation;  he  made  the  laws,  and  his  deep, 
clear  eye  looked  far  beyond  both  consuls  who  stood  at  his 
side,  into  that  future  when  he  alone  would  be  at  the  head 
of  France ;  when,  instead  of  the  uprooted  throne  of  the 
lilies,  he  would  sit  in  the  Tuileries,  in  the  chair  of  the  First 
Consul,  this  chair  of  a  Caesar,  which  could  so  easily  become 
an  emperor's  throne ! 

On  the  20th  Brumaire,  Napoleon  occupied  the  residence 
of  the  Directory  in  the  palace  of  the  Luxemburg,  after  he 
had,  through  his  brother  Louis,  made  Gohier  prisoner,  the 

♦  Bonaparte's  own  words. — See  Bourrienne,  vol.  iii.,  p.  106. 


398  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

only  one  of  the  directors  who  still  lingered  there,  and  whom 
he  afterward  released.  Josephine's  intercession  procured 
the  liberty  of  the  husband  of  her  friend,  and  this  generous 
pardon  of  the  furious  letter  which  Gohier  had  written 
against  him  was  the  thank-offering  which  Bonaparte  pre- 
sented to  the  gods  as  he  made  his  entrance  into  the  Luxem- 
burg. 

The  Luxemburg  itself  was,  however,  but  a  relay  for  a 
change  of  horses  in  the  wondrous  journey  which  Bonaparte 
had  to  travel  from  the  lawyer's  house  on  the  island  of 
Corsica  to  the  throne-room  of  the  Bourbons  in  the  palace 
of  the  Tuileries. 

In  simple  equipage,  he  with  Josephine  made  his  en- 
trance into  the  Luxemburg,  but  after  the  rest  of  a  few 
weeks  he  left  this  station,  to  make  his  entrance  into  the 
Tuileries  in  a  magnificent  carriage,  drawn  by  the  six 
splendid  grays  which  the  Emperor  of  Austria  had  present- 
ed to  General  Bonaparte  in  Gampo  Formic.  For  already 
another  change  had  taken  place  in  the  government  of 
France,  and  the  trefoil-leaf  of  the  consuls  had  assumed 
another  form. 

The  two  consuls,  who  had  stood  at  the  side  of  Bona- 
parte, invested  with  equal  powers,  had  been  set  aside  by 
the  new  constitution  of  the  year  VIII.,  which  the  people 
had  adopted  on  the  17th  of  February,  1800  (18th  Pluviose, 
year  VIII.).  This  constitution  named  Bonaparte  as  consul 
for  ten  years,  and  with  him  two  other  consuls,  who  were 
more  his  secretaries  than  his  colleagues.  Next  to  him  was 
Cambacer^s,  as  second  consul  for  ten  years,  and  then 
Lebrun,  as  third  consul  for  five  years. 

With  these  two  consuls,  Bonaparte,  on  the  19th  of  Feb- 
ruary, 1800,  made  his  solemn  entry  into  the  Tuileries.  The 
old  century,  with  its  Bourbon  throne,  its  bloody  revolution, 
its  horrors,  its  party  passions,  had  passed  away,  and  the 
new  century  found  in  the  Tuileri6s  a  hero  who  wanted  to 


THE  EIGHTEENTH  BRUMAIRE.  399 

crush  all  parties  with  a  hand  of  iron,  and  to  place  his  foot 
on  the  head  of  the  revolution,  so  as  to  close  the  abyss 
which  it  had  opened,  in  order  to  build  himself  an  emperor's 
throne  over  it. 

He  was  for  the  present  satisfied  to  hear  himself  called 
"  First  Consul ; "  he  was  willing  for  a  short  time  to  grant 
to  the  two  men  who  sat  at  his  side  in  the  carriage  drawn 
by  the  six  imperial  grays,  that  they  should  share  the  power 
with  him,  and  should  consider  themselves  vested  with  the 
same  authority.  But  Cambacer^s  and  Lebrun  had  a  keen 
ear  for  the  joyful  shouts  with  which  the  people  followed 
their  triumphal  march  from  the  Luxemburg  to  the  Tuile- 
ries.  They  knew  very  well  that  these  shouts  and  acclama- 
tions were  not  addressed  to  them,  but  only  to  General 
Bonaparte,  the  conqueror  of  Lodi  and  Areola,  the  hero  of  the 
pyramids,  the  "  savior  of  society,"  who,  on  the  18th  Bru- 
maire,  had  rescued  France  from  the  terrorists.  Both  consuls 
were  shrewd  enough  to  draw  a  lesson  from  this  enthusiasm 
of  the  people,  and  willingly  to  fall  back  into  the  shade 
rather  than  to  be  forced  into  it.  The  Tuileries  had  been 
appointed  for  the  residence  of  the  three  consuls,  but  the 
next  day  after  their  triumphal  entry  Cambaceres  left  the 
royal  palace  to  take  up  his  abode  in  the  Hotel  Elboeuf ,  on 
the  Place  de  Carrousel.  Lebrun,  who  at  first  made  the 
Flora  Pavilion  his  headquarters,  soon  found  it  more  advis- 
able to  take  his  lodgings  elsewhere,  and  he  left  the  Tuile- 
ries, to  make  his  residence  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore. 


400  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE.  \ 

CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

THE   TUILERIE8. 

The  Tuileries  had  again  found  a  master ;  the  halls  where 
Marie  Antoinette  received  her  joyous  guests,  her  beautiful 
lady-friends,  were  now  again  alive  with  elegant  female  fig- 
ures, and  resounded  with  gay  voices,  cheerful  laughter,  and 
unaffected  pleasantry.  The  apartments  in  which  Louis 
XVI.  had  passed  such  sad  and  fearful  days,  where  he  had 
laid  with  his  ministers  such  nefarious  schemes,  and  where 
royalty  had  been  trodden  down  under  the  feet  of  the  infuri- 
ated populace — these  rooms  were  now  occupied  by  the  hero 
who  had  subdued  the  people,  slain  the  revolution,  and  re- 
stored to  France  peace  and  glory. 

The  Tuileries  had  again  found  a  master — the  throne- 
room  was  still  vacant  and  empty,  for  the  first  consul  of  the 
republic  dared  not  yet  lay  claim  to  this  throne  which  the 
revolution  had  destroyed,  and  which  the  republic  had  for- 
ever removed  from  France.  But  if  there  was  no  throne  in 
the  Tuileries,  there  was  at  least  a  court ;  and  "  Madame 
Etiquette,"  driven  away  from  the  royal  palace  since  the 
days  of  the  unfortunate  Marie  Antoinette,  had  again,  though 
with  modest  and  timid  step,  slipped  into  the  Tuileries.  It 
is  true,  she  now  clandestinely  occupied  a  servant's  room ; 
but  the  day  was  not  far  distant  when,  as  Egeria,  she  would 
whisper  advice  and  dictate  laws  to  the  ear  of  the  new  Numa 
Pompilius ;  when  all  doors  would  be  open  to  her,  and  when 
she  alone  would,  at  all  times,  have  access  to  the  mighty  lord 
of  France. 

In  the  Luxemburg,  the  fraternity  and  the  equality  of  the 
revolution  had  been  set  aside,  as,  long  before,  on  the  13th 
Venderaiaire,  the  liberty  of  the  revolution  had  been  cast 
away.  In  the  Luxemburg  the  "  citoyenne  "  Bonaparte  had 
become  "  Madame  "  Bonaparte,  and  the  young  daughter  of 


THE  TUILERIES.  401 

the  citizeness  Josephine  heard  herself  called  "Mademoiselle  " 
Hortense ! 

After  the  entrance  into  the  Tuileries,  fraternity  and 
equality  disappeared  rapidly,  and  the  distinctions  of  gentle- 
men and  servants,  rulers  and  subjects,  superiors  and  sub- 
ordinates, were  again  introduced.  The  chief  of  the  admin- 
istration was  surrounded  with  honors  and  distinctions  ;  the 
court,  with  all  its  grades,  degrees,  and  titles,  was  there ;  it 
had  its  courtiers,  flatterers,  and  defamers ;  and  also  its  bril- 
liant festivities,  splendors,  and  pomp ! 

It  is  true  this  was  not  the  work  of  a  moment,  nor  so 
rapid  an  achievement  as  the  transition  from  the  Luxem- 
burg to  the  Tuileries,  but  the  introduction  of  the  words 
"madame"  and  "monsieur"  removed  the  first  obstacle 
which  held  the  whole  French  nation  bound  to  the  same 
platform ;  and  a  second  obstacle  had  fallen,  when  permission 
was  granted  to  all  the  emigres^  with  the  exception  of  the 
royal  family,  to  return  to  their  native  country.    • 

The  aristocrats  of  old  France  returned  in  vast  numbers ; 
they,  the  bearers  of  old  names  of  glory,  the  legitimists,  who 
had  fled  before  the  guillotine,  now  hoped  to  win  again  the 
throne  from  the  consulate. 

They  kept  themselves,  however,  aloof  from  the  consul, 
whose  greatness  and  power  were  derived  from  the  revolu- 
tion, and  who  was  to  them  a  representative  of  the  rebellious, 
criminal  republic ;  but  they  presented  themselves  to  his  wife, 
they  brought  their  homage  to  Josephine,  the  born  aristocrat, 
the  relative  and  friend  of  so  many  emigrant  families,  and 
they  hoped,  through  her  influence,  to  obtain  what  they  dared 
not  ask  from  the  first  consul — the  re-establishment  of  the 
throne  of  the  Bourbons. 

These  aristocrats  knew  very  well  that  Josephine  longed 
for  the  return  of  the  royal  family ;  that  in  her  heart  she 
cherished  love  and  loyalty  to  the  unfortunate  royal  couple ; 
and  that,  without  any  personal  ambition,  without  any  desire 


402  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

for  fame,  but  with  the  devotedness  of  a  royalist,  and  the 
affection  of  a  noble,  sensitive  woman,  she  sighed  for  the 
time  when  Bonaparte  would  again  restore  to  the  heir  of 
Louis  XVI.  the  throne  of  the  lilies,  and  recall  to  France  the 
Count  de  Lille,  to  replace  him  as  king  on  his  brother's  throne. 

In  fact,  Josephine  had  faith  in  this  fairy- tal^  of  her  royal 
heart ;  she  believed  in  those  dreams  with  which  her  tender 
conscience  lulled  her  to  repose,  whenever  she  reproached 
herself,  that  she,  the  subject,  now  walked  and  gave  orders 
as  mistress  in  this  palace  of  royalty  !  Why,  indeed,  could 
she  not  believe  in  the  realization  of  those  dreams,  since 
Bonaparte  himself  seemed  to  cherish  no  further  wishes  than 
to  rest  on  his  laurels,  and  to  enjoy,  in  delightful  privacy,  the 
peace  he  had  given  to  France  ? 

"  I  am  looked  upon  as  ambitious,"  said  Bonaparte  one 
day,  in  the  confidential  evening  conversations  with  his 
friends  in  Josephine's  drawing-rooms,  "  I  am  looked  upon 
as  ambitious,  and  why  ?  Listen,  my  friends,  to  what  I  am 
going  to  tell  you,  and  which  you  may  repeat  to  all.  In  three 
years  I  shall  retire  from  public  life ;  I  shall  then  have  about 
fifty  thousand  livres  income,  and  that  is  sufficient  for  my 
mode  of  living.  I  will  get  a  country  residence,  since  Jose- 
phine loves  a  country  life.  One  thing  only  I  need,  and  this 
I  claim — I  want  to  be  the  justice  of  the  peace  for  my  circuit. 
Now,  say,  am  I  ambitious  ?  " 

Every  one  laughed  at  the  strange  conceit  of  Bonaparte, 
who  wished  to  exchange  his  present  course  for  the  position 
of  a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  Bonaparte  chimed  in  heartily 
with  the  laughter. 

But  Josephine  believed  those  words  of  Bonaparte,  and 
their  echoes  had  perchance  penetrated  even  to  Russia,  to  the 
ears  of  the  pretender  to  the  French  throne,  the  Count  de 
Lille,  and  to  the  ears  of  the  Count  d'Artois,  his  brother,  and 
they  both  therefore  based  their  hopes  on  Josephine's  winning 
her  husband  to  the  cause  of  the  Bourbons. 


THE  TUILERIES.  .    403 

Both  sent  their  secret  emissaries  to  Paris,  to  enter  into 
some  compact  with  Josephine,  and  to  prepare  their  pathway 
to  the  throne,  after  having  failed  to  negotiate  directly  with 
Bonaparte,  who  had  repelled  all  their  efforts,  and  with 
haughty  pride  had  answered  the  autograph  letter  of  the 
Count  de  Lille. 

The  Count  d'Artois,  enlightened  by  the  fruitless  efforts 
of  his  brother,  resorted  to  another  scheme.  He  sent  a  female 
emissary  to  Paris — not  to  Bonaparte,  but  to  Josephine. 
Napoleon  himself  speaks  of  it,  in  his  Memorial  of  St. 
Helena,  as  follows : 

"  The  Count  d'Artois  made  his  advances  in  a  more  elo- 
quent and  refined  manner.  He  sent  to  Paris  the  Duchess 
de  Guiche,  a  charming  woman,  who  by  the  elegance  of  her 
manners  and  by  her  personal  attractions  was  well  calculated 
to  bring  to  a  favorable  result  the  object  of  her  mission.  She 
easily  obtained  an  introduction  to  Madame  Bonaparte,  who 
was  acquainted  with  all  the  persons  of  the  old  court.  The 
beautiful  duchess  was  therefore  invited  to  a  dejeuner  at  Mal- 
maison ;  and  during  breakfast,  when  the  conversation  ran 
upon  London,  the  emigrants,  and  the  princes,  Madame  de 
Guiche  stated  that  a  few  days  before  she  had  called  upon 
the  Count  d'Artois.  They  had  spoken  of  current  events, 
of  the  future  of  France,  of  the  royal  family,  and  one  of  the 
confidants  had  asked  the  prince  what  would  be  the  reward 
of  the  first  consul  if  he  re-established  the  Bourbons !  The 
prince  answered :  '  First  of  all  he  would  be  created  contieta- 
ble,  with  all  the  privileges  attached  to  that  rank,  if  that 
were  agreeable  to  him.  But  that  would  not  be  enough ;  we 
would  erect  to  him  on  the  Place  de  Carrousel  a  tall  and 
costly  column,  and  on  it  we  would  raise  the  statue  of  Bona- 
parte crowning  the  Bourbons.'  A  short  time  after  the 
dejeuner  the  consul  entered,  and  Josephine  had  nothing 
more  pressing  to  do  than  to  relate  to  him  all  these  details. 
*  And  have  you  inquired,'  asked  her  husband, '  whether  this 


404  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

column  would  have  for  a  pedestal  the  corpse  of  the  first  con- 
sul ? '  The  beautiful  duchess  was  still  present,  and  with  her 
winning  ways  she  was  well  calculated  to  carry  her  point.  '  I 
shall  ever  be  happy,'  said  she, '  and  grateful  for  the  kindness 
of  Madame  Bonaparte  in  having  granted  me  the  opportunity 
of  gazing  upon  and  listening  to  a  great  man — a  hero.'  But 
it  was  all  in  vain ;  the  Duchess  de  Guiche  the  same  night 
received  orders  to  depart  immediately ;  and  the  beauty  of 
this  emissary  appeared  to  Josephine  too  dangerous  for  her 
urgently  to  intercede  in  her  behalf.  Early  next  morning 
Madame  de  Guiche  was  on  her  way  to  the  frontier."  * 

The  Count  de  Lille  chose  for  his  mediator  a  very  de- 
voted servant,  the  most  skilful  of  all  his  agents,  the  Mar- 
quis de  Clermont  Gallerande.  He  also  was  kindly  received 
by  Josephine,  and  he  found  access  to  her  ear.  With  intense 
sympathy,  and  tears  in  her  eyes,  she  bade  him  tell  her  the 
sad  wanderings  of  that  unfortunate  man,  "  his  majesty  the 
King  of  France,"  and  who  as  a  fugitive  was  barely  tolerated, 
roaming  from  court  to  court,  a  protege  of  the  good-will  of 
foreign  potentates.  Drawn  away  by  her  generous  heart,  and 
by  her  unswerving  loyalty  to  the  faith  of  her  childhood,  she 
spoke  enthusiastically  of  the  young  royal  couple  who  once 
had  ruled  in  the  Tuileries ;  and  she  went  so  far  as  to  ex- 
press the  hope  that  Bonaparte  would  again  make  good  what 
the  revolution  had  destroyed,  and  that  he  would  restore  to 
the  King  of  France  his  lost  throne. 

The  Marquis  de  Clermont,  to  prove  to  her  what  confi- 
dence he  reposed  in  her,  and  what  consideration  the  King 
of  France  entertained  for  the  first  consul  and  his  adored 
wife,  communicated  to  her  a  letter  from  the  Count  de  Lille 
to  him,  which  was  in  itself  a  masterpiece,  well  calculated  to 
move  the  heart  of  Josephine. 

The  Count  de  Lille  portrayed   in  this  letter  first  the 

"  Memorial  de  Ste.  H^l^ne,"  vol.  i.,  p.  34 


THE  TUILERIES.  405 

dangers  which  would  threaten  Bonaparte  if  he  should  allow 
himself  to  be  drawn  into  the  inconsiderate  and  criminal 
step  of  placing  the  crown  of  France  on  his  own  head,  and 
then  continued : 

"  Sitting  upon  a  volcano,  Bonaparte  would  sooner  or 
later  be  destroyed  by  it  if  he  hastens  not  in  due  time  to 
close  the  crater.  Sitting  upon  the  first  step  of  the  throne 
restored  by  his  own  hand,  he  would  be  the  object  of  a 
monarch's  gratitude ;  he  would  receive  from  France  the 
highest  regards,  the  more  pure  since  they  would  be  the  re- 
sult of  his  administration  and  of  public  esteem.  No  one  can 
convince  him  of  these  truths  better  than  she  whose  fortune 
is  bound  up  with  his,  who  can  be  happy  only  in  his  happi- 
ness and  honored  only  in  his  reputation.  I  consider  it  a 
great  point  gained  if  you  can  come  into  some  relation  with 
her.  I  know  her  sentiments  from  days  of  old.  The  Count 
de  Vermeuil,  ex-governor  of  the  Antilles,  whose  judgment  as 
you  know  is  most  excellent,  has  told  me  more  than  once 
that  in  Martinique  he  had  often  noticed  how  her  fealty  to 
the  crown  deepened  nearly  to  distraction ;  and  the  protec- 
tion which  she  grants  to  my  faithful  subjects  who  appeal  to 
her,  entitles  her  justly  to  the  name  you  give  her,  '  an  angel 
of  goodness.'  Let  my  sentiments  be  known  to  Madame 
Bonaparte.  You  will  not  surprise  her,  but  I  flatter  myself 
that  her  soul  will  rejoice  to  know  them."  * 

The  Count  de  Lille  was  not  deceived.  Josephine's  heart 
was  filled  with  joy  at  this  confidence  of  the  "  King  of 
France ; "  she  was  pleased  that  the  Marquis  de  Clermont 
had  fulfilled  his  wishes,  and  that  he  should  with  this  letter 
have  sent  her  a  present.  She  read  it  with  a  countenance 
full  of  enthusiasm,  and  with  a  tremulous  voice,  to  her 
daughter  Hortense,  whom  she  had  educated  to  be  as  good  a 

*  Thibaudeau,  "  Histoire  de  la  France,  et  de  Napoleon  Bonaparte," 
vol.  ii.,  p.  202. 


406  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

royalist  as  herself ;  and  both  mother  and  daughter  besieged, 
with  earnest  petitions,  with  tears  and  prayers,  and  every  ex- 
pression of  love,  the  first  consul  to  realize  the  hopes  of 
the  Count  de  Lille,  and  to  recall  the  exiled  prince  to  his 
kingdom. 

Bonaparte  usually  replied  to  all  these  requests  with  a 
silent  smile;  sometimes  also,  when  they  were  too  violent 
and  pressing,  he  repelled  them  with  unwilling  vehemence. 

"  These  women  belong  entirely  to  the  devil ! "  said  he, 
in  his  anger  to  Bourrienne,  "  they  are  mad  for  royalty.  The 
Faubourg  St.  Germain  has  turned  their  heads,  they  are 
made  the  protecting  genii  of  the  royalists ;  but  they  do  not 
trouble  me,  and  I  am  not  displeased  with  them." 

Bourrienne  ventured  to  warn  Josephine,  and  to  call  her 
attention  to  this,  that  she  might  not  so  strongly  plead  be- 
fore Bonaparte  for  the  Count  de  Lille,  but  Josephine  an- 
swered him  with  a  sad  smile :  "  I  wish  I  could  persuade  him 
to  call  back  the  king,  lest  he  himself  may  have  the  idea  of 
becoming  such;  for  the  fear  that  he  may  do  this  always 
awakens  in  me  a  foreboding  of  evil,  which  I  cannot  banish 
from  my  mind."  * 

But  until  the  king  was  really  recalled  by  the  first  consul, 
Josephine  had  to  be  pleased  to  assume  the  place  of  queen 
in  the  Tuileries,  and  to  accept  the  homage  which  France 
and  soon  all  Europe  brought  to  her.  For  now  that  the  re- 
public was  firmly  established,  and  had  made  peace  with  the 
foreign  powers,  they  sent  their  ambassadors  to  the  republic, 
and  were  received  in  the  name  of  France  by  the  first  consul 
and  his  wife. 

It  was  indeed  an  important  and  significant  moment 
when  Josephine  for  the  first  time  in  her  apartments  re- 
ceived the  ambassadors  of  the  foreign  powers.  It  is  true  no 
one  called  this  "  to  give  audience ; "  no  one  spoke  yet  in 

•  Bourrienne,  vol.  iv.,  p.  108. 


THE  TUILERIES.  407 

genuine  courtier's  style  of  "  great  levee  "  or  "  little  levee ; " 
the  appellation  of  "  madame  "  was  yet  in  use,  and  there  was 
no  court-marshal,  no  maids  of  honor,  no  chamberlains  of 
the  palace.  But  the  substance  was  the  same,  and,  instead 
of  the  high  court-marshal,  it  was  Talleyrand,  the  secretary 
for  forei(?n  affairs,  who  introduced  to  Josephine  the  ambas- 
sadors, and  who  called  their  names. 

This  introduction  of  the  ambassadors  was  the  first  grand 
ceremony  which,  since  the  revolution,  had  taken  place  in 
the  Tuileries.  With  exquisite  tact,  Josephine  had  carefully 
avoided  at  this  festivity  any  pomp,  any  luxury  of  toilet. 
In  a  plain  white  muslin  dress,  her  beautiful  brown  hair 
bound  up  in  a  string  of  white  pearls,  and  holding  Talley- 
rand's hand,  she  entered  the  great  reception  hall,  in  which 
the  foreign  ambassadors,  the  generals,  and  the  high  digni- 
taries of  the  republic  were  gathered.  She  came  without 
pretension  or  ostentation,  but  at  her  appearance  a  murmur 
of  admiration  ran  through  the  company,  and  brought  on 
her  cheeks  the  timid  blush  of  a  young  maiden.  With  the 
assurance  of  an  accomplished  lady  of  the  world  she  received 
the  salutations  of  the  ambassadors,  knew  how  to  speak  to 
each  a  gracious  word,  how  to  entertain  them,  not  with  those 
worn-out,  stereotyped  phrases  customary  at  royal  presenta- 
tions, but  in  an  interesting,  intellectual  manner,  which  at 
once  opened  the  way  to  an  exciting,  witty,  and  unaffected 
conversation. 

Every  one  was  enchanted  with  her,  and  from  this  day 
not  only  the  French  aristocracy,  but  all  distinguished  for- 
eigners who  came  to  Paris,  were  anxious  to  obtain  the  honor 
of  a  reception  in  the  drawing-room  of  the  wife  of  the  first 
consul ;  from  this  day  Josephine  was  the  admiration  of 
Europe,  as  she  had  already  been  that  of  France  and  Italy. 
As  the  wife  of  the  first  consul  of  France  she  could  be  observed 
and  noticed  by  all  Europe,  and  it  is  certainly  a  most  remark- 
able and  unheard-of  circumstance  that  of  all  these  thousands 
*7 


408  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

of  eyes  directed  at  her,  none  could  find  in  her  a  stain  or  blem- 
ish ;  that,  though  neither  beautiful  nor  ycung,  her  sweet 
disposition  and  grace  so  enchanted  every  one  as  to  be  ac- 
cepted as  substitutes  for  them,  while  on  account  of  her 
goodness  and  generosity  her  very  failings  and  weaknesses 
were  overlooked,  being  interwoven  with  so  many  virtues. 

Constant,  the  first  chamberlain  of  Bonaparte,  who,  at 
the  time  Bonaparte  was  elected  first  consul,  entered  his  serv- 
ice, describes  Josephine's  appearance  and  character  in  the 
following  manner : 

"  Napoleon's  wife  was  of  medium  size ;  her  figure  was 
moulded  with  rare  perfection ;  her  movements  had  a  soft- 
ness and  an  elasticity  which  gave  to  her  walk  something 
ethereal,  without  diminishing  the  majesty  of  a  sovereign. 
Her  very  expressive  physiognomy  mirrored  all  the  emotions 
of  her  soul  without  losing  aught  of  the  enchanting  gentle- 
ness which  was  the  very  substance  of  her  character.  At 
the  moment  of  joy  or  merriment  she  was  beautiful  to  be- 
hold. Never  did  a  woman  more  than  she  justify  the  ex- 
pression that  the  eyes  were  the  mirror  of  the  soul.  Hera 
were  of  a  deep-blue  color,  shadowed  by  long,  slightly-curved 
lids,  and  overarched  by  the  most  beautiful  eyebrows  in  the 
world,  and  her  simple  look  attracted  you  toward  her  as  if 
by  an  irresistible  power.  It  was  difficult  for  Josephine  to 
give  to  this  bewitching  look  an  appearance  of  severity,  yet 
she  knew  how  to  make  it  imposing  when  she  chose.  Her 
hair  was  beautiful,  long,  and  soft ;  its  light-brown  color 
agreed  marvellously  well  with  her  complexion,  which  was  a 
mixture  of  delicacy  and  freshness.  At  the  dawn  of  her 
lofty  power  the  empress  was  fond  of  putting  on  for  a  head- 
dress a  red  Madras,  which  gave  her  the  piquant  appearance 
of  a  Creole.  But  what  more  than  any  thing  else  contributed 
to  the  charm  which  invested  her  whole  person  was  the  sweet 
tone  of  her  voice.  How  often  it  has  happened  to  me  and 
to  many  others  amid  our  occupations,  as  soon  as  this  voice 


THE  TUILERIES.  409 

was  heard,  to  remain  still  for  the  sake  of  enjoying  the  pleas- 
ure of  hearing  it !  It  might  be  said,  perhaps,  that  the  em- 
press was  not  a  beautiful  woman  ;  but  her  countenance,  so 
full  of  expression  and  goodness,  the  angelic  grace  which 
was  shed  over  her  whole  person,  placed  her  among  the  most 
charming  women  of  the  world." 

Further  on,  speaking  of  her  character,  he  continues : 

"  Goodness  was  as  inseparable  from  her  character  as 
grace  from  her  person.  Good  even  to  weakness,  sensitive 
beyond  all  expression,  generous  to  extravagance,  she  was  the 
delight  of  all  those  who  were  round  about  her  ;  certain  it  is 
that  there  never  was  a  woman  more  loved  and  more  de- 
servedly loved  by  those  who  approached  her  than  Josephine. 
As  she  had  known  what  adversity  was,  she  was  full  of  com- 
passion for  the  sorrows  of  others ;  with  a  pleasant,  equable 
temperament,  full  of  condescension  alike  to  foe  and  friend, 
she  carried  peace  wherever  discord  or  disunion  existed ;  if 
the  emperor  was  displeased  with  his  brothers,  or  with  any 
other  person,  she  uttered  words  of  affection,  and  soon  re- 
stored harmony.  She  possessed  a  wondrous  tact,  a  rare  sen- 
timent of  what  was  becoming,  and  the  soundest  and  most 
unerring  Judgment  one  can  possibly  imagine.  Besides  all 
this,  Josephine  had  a  remarkable  memory,  to  which  the  em- 
peror would  often  appeal.  She  was  a  good  reader,  and  had 
a  peculiar  charm  of  her  own  which  accorded  with  all  her 
movements.  Napoleon  preferred  her  to  all  his  other  read- 
ers." * 

The  Duke  de  Rovigo,  the  Duchess  d'Abrantes,  Mdlle. 
Ducrest,  the  niece  of  the  Countess  de  Genlis,  Mdlle.  d'Avril- 
lon,  General  Lafayette,  in  a  word,  all  who  have  written 
about  that  period  who  knew  Josephine,  bear  similar  testi- 
mony to  her  amiable  disposition  and  her  superior  virtues. 

In  the  same  'manner  the  man  for  whom,  as  Mdlle.  Du- 

•  Constant,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  i.,  pp.  21,  39 ;  vol.  ii.,  p.  70. 


410  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

crest  says,  "  she  would  gladly  have  given  her  life,"  Xa- 
poleon,  in  his  conversations  with  his  confidential  friends  at 
St.  Helena,  ever  spoke  of  her.  "  In  all  positions  of  life, 
Josephine's  demeanor  and  actions  were  always  pleasant  or 
bewitching,"  said  he.  "  It  would  have  been  impossible  ever 
to  surprise  her,  however  intrusive  you  might  be,  so  as  to 
produce  a  disagreeable  impression.  I  always  found  her  in 
the  same  humor ;  she  had  the  same  amiable  complacency ; 
she  was  good,  gentle,  and  ever  devoted  to  her  husband  in 
true  affection.  He  never  saw  her  in  bad  humor ;  she  was 
always  constantly  busy  in  endeavoring  to  please  him."  * 

And  she  pleased  him  more  than  any  other  woman  ;  he 
loved  her  in  these  happy  days  of  the  consulate  with  all  the 
affection  of  the  first  days  of  his  marriage  ;  his  heart  might 
now  and  then  be  drawn  aside  from  her  to  other  women,  but 
it  always  returned  true  anO  loving  to  her. 

And  this  woman,  whom  the  future  King  of  France 
called  an  "  angel  of  goodness,"  and  the  future  Emperor  of 
France,  "  grace  in  person,"  is  the  one  who  entered  the 
Tuileries  at  Bonaparte's  side  to  bring  again  into  France  the 
tone  of  good  society,  refinement  of  manners,  intellectual 
conversation,  and  a  love  for  the  arts  and  sciences. 

She  was  fully  conscious  of  this  mission,  and  devoted 
herself  with  all  the  strength,  energy,  and  perseverance  of 
her  character.  Her  drawing-room  soon  became  the  central 
rendezvous  of  men  of  science,  art,  learning,  politics,  and 
diplomacy,  and  to  each  Josephine  knew  how  to  address 
friendly  and  captivating  words ;  she  knew  how  to  encourage 
every  one  by  her  noble  affability,  by  her  respectful  interest 
in  their  works  and  plans — so  much  so  that  all  strove  to  do 
as  well  as  possible,  and  in  her  presence  appeared  more  ami- 
able than  they  otherwise  would  perhaps  have  been.  Along- 
side of  the  distinguished  men  of  every  rank'  were  seen  the 

♦  "  Memorial  de  Ste.  H61ene,"  vol.  i.,  pp.  38,  79. 


THE  TUILERIES.  411 

choicest  company  of  ladies,  young,  beautiful,  and  captivat- 
ing ;  the  most  intelligent  women  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Ger- 
main were  not  ashamed  to  appear  in  the  drawing-room  of 
the  wife  of  the  first  consul,  and  thought  that  the  glory  of 
their  old  aristocratic  names  would  not  be  tarnished  by  asso- 
ciation with  Madame  Bonaparte,  who  by  birth  belonged  to 
them,  and  formed  a  sort  of  connecting  link  between  the 
departed  royalty  of  the  last  century  and  the  republicans  of 
the  present. 

This  republicanism  was  soon  to  hide  itself  behind  the 
columns  and  mirrors  of  the  large  hall  of  reception  in  the 
Tuileri*^s.  Bonaparte — the  first  consul,  and  shortly  to  be 
consul  for  life — would  have  nothing  to  do  with  this  repub- 
licanism, which  reminded  him  of  the  days  of  terrorism, 
anarchy,  and  the  guillotine ;  and  the  words  "  Liberty, 
Equality,  and  Fraternity,"  which  the  revolution  had  written 
over  the  portals  of  the  Tuileries,  were  obliterated  by  the 
consul  of  the  republic.  France  had  been  suflBciently  bled, 
and  had  suffered  enough  for  these  three  words  ;  it  was  now 
to  rest  under  the  shadow  of  legal  order  and  of  severe  dis- 
cipline, after  its  golden  morning-dream  of  youth's  enchant- 
ing hopes. 

Bonaparte  was  to  re-establish  order  and  law  ;  Josephine 
was  to  remodel  society  and  the  saloon  ;  her  mission  was  to 
unite  the  aristocracy  of  ancient  France  with  the  parvenues 
of  the  new ;  .she  was  to  be  to  the  latter  a  teacher  of  refine- 
ment, and  of  the  genuine  manners  and  habits  of  so-called 
good  society. 

To  accomplish  this,  the  wife  of  the  first  consul  needed 
the  assistance  of  some  ladies  of  those  circles  who  had 
remained  in  lofty,  haughty  isolation ;  she  needed  the  co- 
operation of  the  ladies  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  It  is 
true  they  made  their  morning  calls,  and  invited  the  former 
Viscountess  de  Beauharnais,  with  her  daughter,  to  their 
evening  receptions  ;  but  they  carefully  avoided  being  pres- 


412  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

ent  at  the  evening  circles  of  Madame  Bonaparte,  where 
their  exclusiveness  was  beset  with  the  danger  of  coming  in 
contact  with  some  "  parvenu,"  or  with  some  sprig  of  the 
army,  or  of  the  financial  bureaus.  Josephine  therefore  had 
to  recruit  her  troops  herself  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Oermain,  so 
as  to  bring  into  her  saloon  the  necessary  contingent  of  the 
old  legitimist  aristocracy,  and  she  found  what  she  desired 
in  a  lady  with  whom  she  had  been  acquainted  as  Vis- 
countess de  Beauharnais,  and  who  then  had  ever  shown 
herself  kind  and  friendly.  This  lady  was  the  Countess  de 
Montesson,  the  morganatic  wife  of  the  Duke  d'Orleans,  the 
father  of  the  Duke  Philippe  Egalit6,  who,  after  betraying 
the  monarchy  to  the  revolution,  was  betrayed  by  the  revo- 
lution, and,  like  his  royal  relatives,  Louis  and  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, had  perished  on  the  scaffold  ! 

Soon  after  his  entrance  into  the  Tuileries,  the  first  consul 
invited,  through  his  wife,  the  Countess  de  Montesson  to 
visit  him,  and  when  she  was  announced  he  advanced  to 
meet  her  with  an  unusual  expression  of  friendship,  and 
endeavored  with  great  condescension  to  make  her  say  in 
what  manner  he  could  please  her  or  be  of  service  to  her. 

"  General,"  said  Madame  de  Montesson,  much  sur- 
prised, "  I  have  no  right  whatever  to  claim  any  thing  from 
you." 

Bonaparte  smiled.  "  You  are  mistaken,"  said  he  ;  "I 
have  been  under  many  obligations  to  you  for  a  long  time 
past.  Do  you  not  know  that  to  you  I  am  indebted  for  my 
first  laurels?  You  came  with  the  Duke  d'Orleans  to 
Brienne  for  the  purpose  of  distributing  the  prizes  at  the 
great  examination,  and  when  you  placed  on  my  head  the 
laurel-crown,  which  has  since  been  followed  by  others,  you 
said,  '  May  it  bring  you  happiness ! '  It  is  commonly  be- 
lieved that  I  am  a  fatalist ;  it  is  therefore  very  natural  that 
I  should  not  have  forgotten  my  first  coronation,  and  that  it 
is  still  fresh  in  my  memory.     It  would  afford  me  much 


THE  TUILERlES.  413 

pleasure  to  be  of  service  to  you ;  besides,  you  can  be  useful 
to  me.  The  tone  of  good  society  has  nearly  perished  in 
France  ;  we  would  like  to  renew  it  again  with  your  assist- 
ance. I  need  some  of  the  traditions  of  days  gone  by — you 
can  assist  my  wife  with  them ;  and  when  a  distinguished 
foreigner  comes  to  Paris  you  can  give  him  a  reception 
which  will  convince  him  that  nowhere  else  can  so  much 
gentleness  and  amiableness  be  found."  * 

That  Madame  de  Montesson  might  have  a  striking 
proof  of  Bonaparte's  good-will,  he  renewed  her  yearly 
pension  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  francs,  which 
the  duke  had  donated  to  her  in  his  will,  and  which  Bona- 
parte restored  to  her  as  the  property  which  the  revolution 
had  confiscated  for  the  nation's  welfare.  She  manifested 
her  gratitude  to  the  first  consul  for  this  liberal  pension  by 
opening  the  saloons  to  the  "  parvenues  of  the  Tuileries ; " 
and  leading  the  aristocrats  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain 
into  the  drawing-rooms  of  Josephine,  and  then  assisting 
her  to  form  out  of  these  elements  a  court  whose  lofty  and 
brilliant  centre  was  to  be  Josephine  herself.  The  ladies 
of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  were  no  longer  ashamed  to 
appear  at  the  new  court  of  the  Tuileries,  but  excused  them- 
selves by  saying  :  "  We  flatter  Josephine,  so  as  to  keep  her 
on  our  side,  and  to  strengthen  her  loyalty  to  the  king.  She 
will,  by  her  entrancing  eloquence,  persuade  the  consul  to 
recall  our  King  Louis  XVIII.,  and  give  him  his  crown." 

But  too  soon,  alas !  were  they  made  aware  of  their 
error.  It  was  not  long  before  they  became  convinced  that, 
if  Bonaparte's  hands  were  busy  in  raising  a  throne,  in  lift- 
ing up  from  the  earth  the  fallen  crown  of  royalty,  he  was 
not  doing  this  to  place  it  on  the  brow  of  the  Count  de 
Lille ;  he  had  a  nearer  object  in  view — he  considered  his 
own  head  better  suited  to  wear  it. 

*  "  Memoires  de  Mdlle.  Ducrest,"  vol.  i.>  p.  9. 


414  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE, 

The  conqueror  of  terrorism  and  of  the  revolution  wai 
not  inclined  to  be  defeated  by  the  enemies  of  the  republic, 
who  were  approaching  the  frontiers  of  France,  to  restore 
the  Bourbons.  He  took  up  the  glove  which  Austria  had 
thrown  down — for  she  had  made  alliance  with  England. 

On  the  6th  of  May,  1800,  Bonaparte  left  Paris,  marched 
with  his  army  over  Mount  St.  Bernard,  and  assumed  the 
chief  command  of  the  army  in  Italy,  which  recently  had 
suffered  so  many  disastrous  defeats  from  Suwarrow  and  the 
Archduke  Charles. 

At  Marengo,  on  the  14th  of  June,  Bonaparte  obtained 
a  brilliant  triumph.  Soon  after,  at  Hohenlinden,  Moreau 
also  defeated  the  Austrians.  These  two  decisive  victories 
forced  Austria  to  make  peace  with  France,  to  abandon  her 
alliance  with  England — that  is  to  say,  with  the  monarchical 
principles ;  and,  at  the  peace  ratified  in  the  beginning  of 
the  year  1801  at  Luneville,  to  concede  to  France  the  grand- 
duchy  of  Tuscany. 

In  July,  Bonaparte  returned  in  triumph  to  France,  and 
was  received  by  the  people  with  enthusiastic  acclamations. 
Paris  was  brilliantly  illuminated  on  the  day  of  his  return, 
and  round  about  the  Tuileries  arose  the  shouts  of  the 
people,  who  with  applauding  voices  demanded  to  see  the 
conqueror  of  Marengo,  and  would  not  remain  quiet  until  he 
appeared  on  the  balcony.  Even  Bonaparte  was  touched  by 
this  enthusiasm  of  the  French  people  ;  as  he  retreated  from 
the  balcony  and  retired  into  his  cabinet,  he  said  to  Bour- 
rienne  .  "  Listen  !  The  people  shout  again  and  again ;  they 
still  send  their  acclamations  toward  me.  I  love  those 
sounds ;  they  are  nearly  as  sweet  as  Josephine's  voice. 
How  proud  and  happy  I  am  to  be  loved  by  such  a  people ! "  * 

*  Bourrienne,  vol.  v.,  p.  36. 


THE  INFERNAL  MACHINE.       •  415 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE  INFEfiNAL  MACHINE. 

The  victory  of  Marengo,  which  had  pleased  the  people, 
had  filled  the  royalists  with  terror  and  fear,  and  destroyed 
their  hopes  of  a  speedy  restoration  of  the  monarchy,  making 
them  conscious  of  its  fruitless  pretensions.  With  the  frenzy 
of  hatred  and  the  bitterness  of  revenge  they  turned  against 
the  first  consul,  who  was  not  now  their  expected  savior  of 
the  monarchy,  but  a  usurper  who  wanted  to  gain  France  for 
himself. 

The  royalists  and  the  republicans  united  for  the  same 
object.  Both  parties  longed  to  destroy  Bonaparte :  the  one 
to  re-establish  the  republic  of  the  year  1793,  and  the  other 
the  throne  of  the  Bourbons.  Everywhere  conspiracies  and 
secret  associations  were  organized,  and  the  watchful  and  ac- 
tive police  discovered  in  a  few  months  more  than  ten  plots, 
the  aim  of  which  was  to  murder  Bonaparte. 

Josephine  heard  this  with  sorrow  and  fear,  with  tears  of 
anxiety  and  love.  She  had  now  given  her  whole  heart  and 
soul  to  Bonaparte,  and  it  was  the  torment  of  martyrdom  to 
see  him  every  day  threatened  by  assassins  and  by  invisible 
foes,  who  from  dark  and  hidden  places  drew  their  daggers 
at  him.  Her  love  surrounded  him  with  vigilant  friends 
and  servants,  who  sought  to  discover  every  danger  and  to  re- 
move it  from  his  path. 

When  he  was  coming  to  Malmaison,  Josephine  before 
his  arrival  would  send  her  servants  to  search  every  hiding- 
place  in  the  park,  to  see  if  in  some  shady  grove  a  mur- 
derer might  not  be  secreted ;  she  entreated  Junot  or  Murat 
to  send  scouts  from  Paris  on  the  road  to  Malmaison  to  re- 
move all  suspicious  persons  from  it.  Yet  her  heart  trem- 
bled with  anxiety  when  she  knew  him  to  be  on  the  way, 
and,  when  he  had  safely  arrived,  she  would  receive  him  with 


416  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

rapture,  as  if  he  had  just  escaped  an  imminent  danger,  and 
would  make  him  laugh  hy  the  exclamations  of  joy  with 
which  she  greeted  him  as  one  saved  from  danger. 

In  the  anxiety  of  her  watchful  love  she  made  herself  ac- 
quainted with  all  the  details  of  the  discovered  conspiracies 
of  both  the  Jacobins  and  royalists.  She  knew  there  were 
two  permanent  conspiracies  at  work,  though  their  leaders 
had  been  discovered  and  led  into  prison. 

One  of  these  conspiracies  had  been  organized  by  the  old 
Jacobins,  the  republicans  of  the  Convention;  and  these 
bands  of  the  "  enraged,"  as  they  called  themselves,  num- 
bered in  their  ranks  all  the  enemies  of  constitutional 
order,  all  the  men  of  the  revolution  of  1789 ;  and  all  these 
men  had  sworn  with  solemn  oaths  to  kill  Bonaparte,  and  to 
deliyer  the  republic  from  her  greatest  and  most  dangerous 
enemy. 

The  other  conspiracy,  which  had  its  ramifications 
throughout  France,  was  formed  by  the  royalists.  "  The 
Society  of  the  White  Mantle  "  was  mostly  composed  of 
Chouans,  daring  men  of  Vendee,  who  were  ever  ready  to 
sacrifice  their  lives  to  the  mere  notion  of  royalty,  and  who 
like  the  Jacobins  had  sworn  to  murder  Bonaparte. 

Chevalier,  who,  with  his  ingenious  infernal  machine, 
sought  to  kill  Bonaparte  on  his  way  to  Malmaison,  belonged 
to  the  Society  of  the  White  Mantle.  But  he  was  betrayed 
by  his  confidant  and  associate  Becyer,  who  assisted  the 
police  to  arrest  him.  To  the  conspiracy  of  the  "  enraged  " 
belonged  the  Italians  Ceracchi,  Arena,  and  Diana,  who  at 
the  opera,  when  the  consul  appeared  in  his  loge^  and  was 
greeted  by  the  acclamations  of  the  people,  were  ready  to 
fire  their  pistols  at  him.  But  at  the  moment  they  were 
about  to  commit  the  deed  from  behind  the  side-scenes, 
where  they  had  hidden  themselves,  they  were  seized,  ar- 
rested, and  led  to  prison  by  the  police.  Josephine,  as  already 
said,  knew  all  these  conspiracies;  she  trembled  for  Bona- 


THE  INFERNAL  MACHINE.  41Y 

parte's  life,  and  yet  she  could  not  prevent  him  from  appear- 
ing in  public,  and  she  herself,  smiling  and  apparently  un- 
suspecting, had  to  appear  at  Bonaparte's  side  at  the  grand 
parades,  in  the  national  festivities,  and  at  the  theatrical  per- 
formances ;  no  feature  on  her  face  was  to  betray  the  anxiety 
she  was  enduring. 

One  day,  however,  not  only  Bonaparte's  life  but  also 
that  of  Josephine,  was  imperilled  by  the  conspirators ;  the 
famous  infernal  machine  which  had  been  placed  on  their 
way  to  the  opera,  would  have  killed  the  first  consul  and  his 
wife,  if  a  red  Persian  shawl  had  not  saved  them  both. 

At  the  grand  opera,  that  evening,  was  to  be  performed 
Joseph  Haydn's  masterpiece,  "  The  Creation."  The  Pa- 
risians awaited  this  performance  with  great  expectation; 
they  rushed  to  the  opera,  not  only  to  hear  the  oratorio,  the 
fame  of  which  had  spread  from  Vienna  to  Paris,  but  also  to 
see  Bonaparte  and  his  wife,  who  it  was  known  would  attend 
the  performance. 

Josephine  had  requested  Bonaparte  to  be  present  at  this 
great  musical  event,  for  she  knew  that  the  public  would  be 
delighted  at  his  presence.  He  at  first  manifested  no  desire 
to  do  so,  for  he  was  not  sufficiently  versed  in  musical  mat- 
ters for  it  to  afford  him  much  enjoyment;  and  besides, 
there  was  but  one  kind  of  music  he  liked,  and  that  was  the 
Italian,  the  richness  of  whose  melody  pleased  him,  while 
the  German  and  French  left  him  dissatisfied  and  weary. 
However,  Bonaparte  gave  way  to  the  entreaties  of  Jose- 
phine, and  resolved  to  drive  to  the  opera.  The  dinner  that 
day  had  been  somewhat  later  than  usual,  for  besides  Jose- 
phine, her  children,  and  Bonaparte's  sister  Caroline,  Murat, 
the  Generals  Bessi^res  and  Lannes,  as  well  as  Bonaparte's 
two  adjutants,  Lebrun  and  Eapp,  had  been  present.  Im- 
mediately after  dinner  they  wanted  to  drive  to  the  opera ; 
but  as  Josephine  lingered  behind,  busy  with  the  arrange- 
ment of  her  shawl,  Bonaparte  declared  he  would  drive  in 


418  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

advance  with  the  two  Generals  Bessieres  and  Lebrun,  while 
Rapp  was  to  accompany  the  ladies  in  the  second  carriage. 
With  his  usual  rapidity  of  action  he  seized  his  hat  and 
sword,  and,  followed  by  his  companions,  left  the  room  to  go 
to  the  carriage,  which  was  waiting. 

Josephine,  who  imagined  that  Bonaparte  was  waiting 
for  her  at  the  carriage,  hurriedly  put  on,  without  troubling 
herself  any  longer  about  the  becoming  arrangement  of  the 
folds,  a  red  Persian  shawl,  which  Bonaparte  had  sent  her 
as  a  present  from  Egypt.  She  was  going  to  leave,  when 
Rapp,  with  the  openness  of  a  soldier,  made  the  remark  that 
she  had  not  put  on  her  shawl  to-day  with  her  accustomed 
elegance.  She  smiled,  and  begged  him  to  arrange  it  after  the 
fashion  of  Egyptian  ladies.  Rapp  laughingly  hastened  to 
comply  with  her  wishes;  and  while  Josephine,  Madame 
Murat,  and  Hortense,  watched  attentively  the  arrangement 
of  the  shawl  in  the  hands  of  Rapp,  Bonaparte's  carriage  was 
heard  moving  away. 

This  noise  put  a  speedy  end  to  all  further  movements, 
and  Josephine,  with  the  ladies  and  Rapp,  hastened  to  fol- 
low Bonaparte.  Their  carriage  had  no  sooner  reached  the 
Place  de  Carrousel,  than  an  appalling  explosion  was  heard, 
and  a  bright  flame  like  a  lightning-flash  filled  the  whole 
place  with  its  glare ;  at  the  same  moment  the  windows  of 
the  carriage  were  broken  into  fragments,  which  flew  in 
every  direction  into  the  carriage,  and  one  of  which  pene- 
trated so  deep  into  the  arm  of  Hortense,  that  the  blood 
gushed  out.  Josephine  uttered  a  cry  of  horror — "  Bona- ' 
parte  is  murdered  !  "  At  the  same  moment  were  heard  loud 
shrieks  and  groans. 

Rapp,  seized  with  fear,  and  only  thinking  that  Bona- 
parte was  in  danger,  sprang  out  of  the  carriage,  and,  care- 
less of  the  wounded  and  bleeding,  who  lay  near,  ran  onward 
\jr>  the  opera  to  find  out  if  Bonaparte  had  safely  reached 
there.     While  the  ladies,  in  mortal  agony,  remained  on  the 


THE  INFERNAL  MACHINE.  419 

Place  de  Carrousel^  not  knowing  whether  to  return  to  th« 
Tuileries  or  to  drive  forward,  a  messenger  arrived  at  full 
speed  to  announce  that  the  first  consul  had  not  been  hurt, 
and  that  he  was  waiting  for  his  wife  in  his  loge,  and  begged 
her  to  come  without  delay.  Meanwhile  Rapp  had  reached 
the  opera,  and  had  penetrated  into  the  box  of  the  first  con- 
sul. Bonaparte  was  seated  calmly  and  unmoved  in  his 
accustomed  place,  examining  the  audience  through  his 
glass,  and  now  and  then  addressing  a  few  words  to  the  sec- 
retary of  police,  Fouche,  who  stood  near  him.  No  sooner 
did  Bonaparte  see  Rapp,  than  he  said  hastily,  and  in  a  low 
voice — "  Josephine  ?  " 

At  that  moment  she  entered,  followed  by  Madame  Murat 
and  Hortense.  Bonaparte  saluted  them  with  a  smile,  and 
with  a  look  of  unfathomable  love  he  extended  his  hand  to 
Josephine.  She  was  still  pale  and  trembling,  although  she 
had  no  conception  of  the  greatness  of  the  danger  which  had 
menaced  her. 

Bonaparte  endeavored  to  quiet  her  by  stating  that  the 
explosion  was  probably  the  result  of  some  accident  or  im- 
prudence ;  but  at  this  moment  the  prefect  of  the  police  en- 
tered who  had  been  on  the  spot,  and  had  come  to  give  a 
report  of  the  dreadful  effects  of  the  explosion.  Fifteen 
persons  had  been  killed,  more  than  thirty  had  been  severely 
wounded,  and  about  forty  houses  seriously  damaged.  This 
was  all  the  work  of  a  so-called  infernal  machine — a  small 
barrel  filled  with  powder  and  quicksilver — which  had  been 
placed  in  a  little  carriage  at  the  entrance  of  the  Rue  St. 
Nicaise. 

Until  now  Josephine  did  not  realize  the  extent  of  the 
danger  which  had  threatened  her  and  her  husband.  Had 
the  explosion  taken  place  a  few  moments  before,  it  would 
have  killed  the  consul ;  if  it  had  been  one  minute  later, 
Josephine  and  her  companions  would  have  been  involved  in 
the  catastrophe.     It  was  the  shawl  which  Rapp  was  arrang- 


420  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

ing  on  her  shoulders  according  to  the  rules  of  art,  which 
caused  them  to  retard  their  departure,  and  thus  saved  her 
life. 

An  inexpressible  horror  now  seized  her  and  made  her 
tremble ;  her  looks,  full  of  love  and  deep  anguish,  were 
fixed  on  Bonaparte,  who,  in  a  low  voice,  entreated  her 
to  compose  herself,  and  not  to  make  her  distress  public. 
Near  Josephine  sat  Hortense,  pale  and  agitated,  like  her 
mother ;  around  her  wounded  arm  was  wrapped  a  handker- 
chief, stained  here  and  there  with  blood.  Madame  Murat 
was  quiet  and  composed,  like  Bonaparte,  who  was  then 
giving  instructions  to  the  prefect  of  police  to  provide  im- 
mediate assistance  for  the  unfortunate  persons  who  had 
been  wounded. 

No  one  yet  in  the  audience  knew  the  appalling  event. 
The  thundering  noise  had  been  heard,  but  it  was  presumed 
to  have  been  an  artillery  salute,  and  no  evil  was  suspected, 
for  Bonaparte,  with  his  usual  guards,  had  entered  his  box, 
and,  advancing  to  its  very  edge,  had  saluted  the  public  in  a 
friendly  way.  This  act  of  the  first  consul  had  its  ordinary 
effect :  the  audience,  indifferent  to  the  music,  rose  and  sa- 
luted their  hero  with  loud  acclamation  and  applause.  Not 
till  Josephine  entered  the  loge  had  the  acclamations  sub- 
sided, and  the  music  begun  again.  A  few  minutes  after,  the 
news  of  the  fearful  event  spread  all  over  the  house :  a  mur- 
mur arose,  and  the  music  was  interrupted  anew. 

The  Duchess  d'Abrantes,  who  was  present  at  this  scene, 
gives  a  faithful,  eloquent,  and  graphic  picture  of  it : 

"  A  vague  noise,"  says  she,  "  began  to  spread  from  the 
parterre  to  the  orchestra,  and  from  the  amphitheatre  to  the 
boxes.  Soon  the  news  of  the  occurrence  was  known  all 
over  the  house,  when,  like  a  sudden  clap  of  thunder,  an 
acclamation  burst  forth,  and  the  whole  audience,  with  a 
single  undivided  look  of  love,  seemed  to  desire  to  embrace 
Bonaparte.    What  I  am  narrating  I  have  seen,  and  I  am  not 


THE  INFERNAL  MACHINE.  42] 

the  only  one  who  saw  it.  .  .  .  What  excitement  followed  this 
first  explosion  of  national  anger,  which  at  this  moment  was 
represented  by  the  audience,  whose  horror  at  the  dark  plot 
cannot  be  described  with  words !  Women  were  seen  weep- 
ing and  sobbing ;  men,  pale  as  death,  trembled  with  ven- 
geance and  anger,  whatever  might  have  been  the  political 
standard  which  they  followed ;  all  hearts  and  hands  were 
united  to  prove  that  difference  of  opinion  creates  no  differ- 
ence in  the  interpretation  of  the  code  of  honor.  During 
the  whole  scene  my  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  loge  of  the  con- 
sul. He  was  quiet,  and  only  seemed  moved  when  public 
sentiment  gave  utterance  to  strong  expressive  words  about 
the  conspiracy,  and  these  reached  him.  Madame  Bonaparte 
was  not  fully  composed.  Her  countenance  was  disturbed ; 
even  her  attitude,  generally  so  very  graceful,  was  no  longer 
under  her  control.  She  seemed  to  tremble  under  her  shawl 
as  under  a  protecting  canopy,  and  in  fact  it  was  this  shawl 
which  had  saved  her  from  destruction.  She  was  weeping ; 
however  much  she  endeavored  to  compose  herself,  she  could 
not  repress  her  tears  ;  they  would  flow,  against  her  will,  down 
her  pale  cheeks,  and,  whenever  Josephine  fixed  her  eyes 
upon  her  husband,  she  trembled  again.  Even  her  daughter 
seemed  extremely  agitated,  and  Madame  Murat  alone  pre- 
served the  family  character,  and  seemed  entirely  herself."  * 
At  last,  when  the  public  excitement  was  somewhat  abated, 
and  the  music  was  again  resumed,  the  audience  turned  its 
attention  to  Hadyn's  masterpiece.  But  Josephine  had  not 
the  strength  to  bear  this  effort,  and  to  submit  to  it  quietly. 
She  entreated  her  husband  to  retire  with  her  and  the  ladies ; 
and  when  at  last  he  acceded  to  her  request,  and  had  quietly 
left  the  loge  with  her,  Josephine  sat  by  him  in  the  carriage, 
opposite  Caroline  and  Hortense,  and,  sobbing,  threw  herself 
on  Bonaparte's  breast,  and  cried  out  in  her  anguish : 

Duchess  d'Abrantes,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  ii.,  p.  66. 


422  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

"  What  a  life,  where  I  must  ever  be  trembling  for  you !  ** 

The  infernal  machine  did  not  kill  the  first  consul,  but  it 
gave  to  liberty  and  to  the  republic  a  fatal  blow ;  it  scattered 
into  fragments  what  remained  of  the  revolutionary  institu- 
tions from  the  days  of  blood  and  terror.  France  rose  up  in 
disgust  and  horror  against  the  party  which  made  of  assassins 
its  companions,  and  consequently  this  conspiracy  failed  to 
accomplish  what  its  originators  had  expected.  They  wanted 
to  destroy  Bonaparte  and  ruin  his  power,  but  this  abortive 
attempt  only  increased  his  popularity,  enlarged  his  power, 
and  deepened  the  people's  love  for  him  who  now  appeared 
to  them  as  a  protecting  rampart,  and  a  barrier  to  the  flood 
of  anarchy. 

France  gave  herself  up  trembling,  and  without  a  will  of 
her  own,  into  the  hands  of  the  hero  to  whom  she  was  in- 
debted for  fame  and  recognition  by  foreign  powers,  and 
through  whom  she  hoped  to  secure  domestic  peace.  France 
longed  for  a  strong  arm  to  support  her;  Bonaparte  gave 
her  this  arm,  but  it  not  only  supported  France,  it  bowed 
her  down ;  and  from  this  day  he  placed  the  reins  on  the 
wild  republican  steed,  and  let  it  feel  that  it  had  found  a 
master  who  had  the  power  and  the  will  to  direct  it  entirely 
in  accordance  with  his  wishes. 

Bonaparte  was  determined  to  put  an  end  to  the  seditions 
and  conspiracies  of  the  republicans,  whom  he  hated  because 
they  had  for  their  aim  the  downfall  of  all  legitimate  author- 
ity ;  and  in  turn  was  hated  by  them  because  he  had  aban- 
doned their  standard  and  turned  against  the  republic  with 
the  faithlessness  of  a  son  who  attacks  the  mother  that 
gave  him  birth.  Bonaparte  maintained  that  it  was  the 
republicans  who  had  set  the  infernal  machine  on  his  path, 
and  paid  no  attention  to  the  opinion  of  Fouche,  who  ascribed 
to  the  royalists  the  origin  of  the  plot.  Bonaparte  wished 
first  to  do  away  with  his  most  violent  and  bitter  enemies, 
the  republicans  of  the  year  1789 ;  he  desired  to  possess  the 


THE  CASHMERES  AND  THE  LETTER.  423 

power  of  punishing  such,  and  to  render  them  harmless,  and 
now  the  horror  produced  by  this  criminal  act  came  to  his 
assistance  in  carrying  out  this  plan. 

The  council  of  the  state  adopted  the  legislative  enact- 
ment that  the  consuls  should  have  "  the  power  to  remove 
from  Paris  those  persons  whose  presence  they  considered 
dangerous  to  the  public  security,  and  that  all  such  persons 
who  should  leave  their  place  of  banishment  should  be  trans- 
ported from  the  country ! " 

Under  this  law,  George  Cadoudal,  Chevalier,  Arena» 
Ceracchi,  and  many  others  were  executed ;  and  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty  persons,  whose  only  crime  was  that  of  being 
suspected  of  dissatisfaction  toward  the  administration  of  the 
consuls,  and  considered  as  Bonaparte's  enemies,  were  trans- 
ported to  Cayenne. 

Such  were  for  France  the  results  of  this  infernal  machine, 
the  object  of  which  was  to  assassinate  the  Consul  Bonaparte, 
instead  of  which  it  had  only  the  effect  of  destroying  his  ene- 
mies and  strengthening  his  power. 


CHAPTEK  XXXV. 

THE   CASHMERES   AKD   THE    LETTER. 

As  mighty  events  always  exercise  an  influence  on  minor 
ones,  so  this  fearful  attempt  at  murder  became  the  occasion 
for  the  introduction  into  France  of  a  new  branch  of  indus- 
try, which  had  hitherto  drawn  millions  from  Europe  to  the 
East. 

Josephine,  gratefully  remembering  her  truly  wonderful 

deliverance  through  the  means  of  her  Persian  shawl,  wore  it 

afterward  in  preference  to  any  other.     Until  then  she  had 

never  fancied  it.  for  when  Bonaparte  sent  it  to  her  from 

"28 


424  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Egypt,  she  wrote  to  him  :  "  I  have  received  the  shawl.  It 
may  be  very  beautiful  and  very  costly,  but  I  find  it  un-- 
sightly.  Its  great  advantage  consists  in  its  lightness.  I 
doubt,  however,  if  this  new  fashion  will  meet  with  appro- 
bation. Notwithstanding,  I  am  pleased  with  it,  for  it  is 
rare  and  warm."  * 

But  after  it  had  saved  her  life,  she  no  longer  thought  it 
unsightly,  she  was  fond  of  wrapping  herself  up  in  it,  and  the 
natural  consequence  was,  that  these  Persian  shawls  soon 
formed  the  most  fashionable  and  costly  article  of  apparel. 

Every  lady  of  the  higher  classes  considered  it  a  necessity 
to  cover  her  tender  shoulders  with  this  valuable  foreign 
material,  and  it  soon  became  "  comme  il  faut^''  a  duty  of 
position,  to  possess  a  collection  of  such  Persian  shawls,  and 
to  wear  them  at  the  balls  and  receptions  in  the  Tuileries. 

The  desire  to  possess  such  a  precious  article  of  fashion 
led  these  ladies  oftentimes  to  "  corriger  la  fortune^''  and  to 
obtain,  by  some  bold  but  not  very  creditable  act,  possession 
of  such  a  shawl,  which  had  now  become  in  a  certain  meas- 
ure the  escutcheon  of  the  new  French  aristocracy. 

The  Duchess  d'Abrantes,  in  reference  to  this  matter, 
relates  two  thefts  which  at  that  time  troubled  the  aristo- 
cratic society  of  the  Tuileries,  which  prove  that  the  ladies 
had  taken  instructions  from  the  gentlemen,  and  that  dis- 
honest persons  of  both  sexes  were  admitted  into  the  society 
of  heroes  and  their  beautiful  wives ! 

At  a  morning  reception  in  the  Tuileries,  the  shawl  of 
the  Countess  de  St.  Martin  had  been  stolen ;  and  this  lady 
was  very  much  distressed  at  the  loss,  for  this  cashmere  was 
not  only  a  present  from  Madame  Murat,  but  was  one  of 
uncommon  beauty,  on  account  of  the  rarity  of  the  design, 
consisting  of  paroquets  in  artistic  groups,  instead  of  the 

♦  "  M6moires  sur  I'lmp^ratrice,"  par  Mademoiselle  Ducrest,  voL  iiL, 
p.  227. 


THE  CASHMERES  AND  THE  LETTER.  425 

ordinary  palm.  The  countess  was  therefore  untiring  in 
recounting  to  every  one  her  irreparable  loss,  and  uttered 
bitter  curses  against  the  bold  female  who  had  stolen  her 
treasure. 

"  A  few  weeks  later,"  relates  the  duchess,  "  at  a  ball  given 
by  the  minister  Talleyrand,  the  countess  came  toward  me 
with  a  bright  countenance  and  told  me  that  she  had  just 
now  found  her  shawl,  and,  strange  to  say,  upon  the  shoul- 
ders of  a  young  lady  at  the  ball ! 

" '  But,'  said  I  to  her, '  you  will  not  accuse  this  lady  be- 
fore the  whole  company  ! ' 

"'And  why  not?' 

*' '  Because  that  would  be  wrong.  Leave  this  matter  to 
me.' 

"  She  would  not  at  first,  but  I  pressed  the  subject  on  her 
consideration,  and  she  agreed  at  length  to  remain  somewhat 
behind,  while  I  approached  the  young  lady,  who  stood  near 
the  door,  and  was  just  going  to  leave  the  ballroom.  I  told 
her  in  a  low  voice  that  in  all  probability  she  had  made  a 
mistake ;  that  she  had  perhaps  mislaid  her  own  cashmere, 
and  had  through  carelessness  taken  the  shawl  of  the  Count- 
ess de  St.  Martin. 

"  I  was  as  polite  as  I  could  possibly  be  in  such  a  commu- 
nication ;  but  the  young  lady  looked  at  me  unpleasantly  for 
such  an  impertinent  intrusion,  and  replied  that  '  since  the 
time  the  Countess  de  St.  Martin  had  deafened  the  ears  of 
every  one  with  the  story  of  her  stolen  shawl,  she  had  had 
ample  leisure  to  recognize  as  her  property  the  cashmere  she 
wore.'  Her  mother,  who  stood  a  few  steps  from  her,  and 
was  conversing  with  another  lady,  turned  toward  her  when 
she  heard  her  daughter  speak  in  so  loud  a  voice.  But  the 
Countess  de  St.  Martin,  who  had  overheard  that  she  '  had 
deafened  the  ears  of  every  one  with  the  story  of  her  stolen 
shawl,'  rushed  in  to  the  rescue  of  her  case. 

" '  This  cashmere  belongs  to  me,'  said  she,  haughtily — 


426  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE, 

seizing,  at  the  same  time,  the  shawl  with  one  hand,  while 
the  young  lady  with  her  fist  thrust  her  back  violently.  I 
saw  that  in  a  moment  they  would  come  to  blows. 

"'It  will  be  easy  to  end  this  difficulty,'  said  I  to  the 
Countess  de  St.  Martin.  '  Madame  will  be  kind  enough 
to  tell  us  where  she  has  purchased  this  shawl  which  is  so 
much  like  yours,  and  then  you  will  see  your  mistake,  and 
be  satisfied.' 

" '  It  does  not  suit  me  to  tell  where  I  got  this  shawl,' 
replied  the  lady,  looking  at  me  contemptuously ;  '  there  is 
no  necessity  for  my  telling  you  where  I  purchased  it.' 

" '  Well,  then,'  exclaimed  eagerly  the  Countess  de  St. 
Martin,  *  you  confess,  madame,  that  the  shawl  really  belongs 
to  you  ? ' 

"  The  other  answered  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  and  drew 
the  shawl  closer  to  her  shoulders.  A  few  persons,  attracted 
by  the  strangeness  of  such  a  scene,  had  gathered  around 
us,  and  seemed  to  wait  for  the  end  of  so  extraordinary  an 
event. 

"  The  countess  continued  with  a  loud  voice  : 

"  *  "Well,  then,  madame,  since  the  shawl  belongs  to 
you,  you  can  explain  to  me  why  the  name  of  Christine, 
which  is  my  first  name,  is  embroidered  in  red  silk  on  the 
small  edging.  Madame  Junot  will  be  kind  enough  to  look 
for  this  name.' 

"  The  young  woman  became  pale  as  death.  I  shall  never 
during  my  life  forget  the  despairing  look  which  she  gave 
me,  as  with  trembling  hand  she  passed  me  the  shawl,  just 
as  her  father  appeared  from  a  room  near  the  place  of  the 
scene.  I  took  the  cashmere  with  an  unsteady  hand,  and 
sought  reluctantly  for  the  name  of  Christine,  for  I  trusted 
she  would  at  least  have  taken  it  out ;  but  the  deathly  pale- 
ness of  the  guilty  one  told  the  contrary,  and  in  fact  I  had 
no  sooner  unfolded  the  shawl,  than  the  name  appeared,  em' 
broidered  at  the  narrow  edging. 


THE  CASHMERES  AND  THE  LETTER.  427 

"  *  Ah  ! '  at  last  exclaimed  the  countess,  in  a  triumphant 
tone,  '  I  have — '  but  as  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  young 
woman,  she  was  touched  by  her  despairing  look.  '  Well, 
then,'  cried  she,  '  this  is  one  of  those  mistakes  which  so 
often  happen.  To-morrow  I  will  return  your  cashmere. — 
We  have  exchanged  cashmeres,'  said  she,  turning  to  the 
young  lady's  father,  who,  surprised  at  seeing  her  naked 
shoulders,  gazed  at  his  daughter,  not  understanding  the 
matter.  '  You  will  have  the  goodness  to  send  me  my 
shawl  to-morrow,'  added  she,  noticing  how  the  young 
woman  trembled. 

"  We  returned  into  the  ballroom,  and  the  next  day  the 
young  lady  sent  to  the  Countess  de  St.  Martin  her  precious 
shawl. 

"  Something  similar  to  this  happened  at  the  same  time 
to  Madame  Hamelin.  She  was  at  a  ball ;  when  rising  from 
her  seat  to  join  in  a  contra-dance,  she  left  there  a  very 
beautiful  black  shawl ;  when  she  returned,  her  shawl  was 
no  longer  there,  but  she  saw  it  on  the  shoulders  of  a  well- 
known  and  distinguished  lady.     Approaching  her,  she  said  : 

"  '  Madame,  you  have  my  shawl ! ' 

" '  Not  at  all,  madame  ! ' 

" '  But,  madame,  this  is  my  shawl,  and,  as  an  evidence, 
I  can  state  the  number  of  its  palms — it  has  exactly  thirteen, 
a  very  unusual  number ! ' 

"'My  shawl  has  also,  by  chance,  precisely  thirteen 
palms.' 

" '  But,'  said  Madame  Hamelin,  '  I  have  torn  it  since  I 
came  here.  You  can  see  where  it  is  torn,  and  by  that 
means  I  recognize  my  shawl.' 

" '  Ah,  my  goodness  !  my  shawl  has  also  been  torn  ;  that 
is  precisely  why  I  bought  it,  for  I  obtained  it  on  that  ac- 
count somewhat  cheaper.' 

"  It  is  useless  to  dispute  with  a  person  who  is  deter- 
mined to  follow  Basil's  receipt,  that '  what  is  worth  taking 


428  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

is  worth  keeping.'  Madame  Hamelin  lost  her  shawl,  and 
had,  as  a  sole  consolation,  the  petty  vengeance  of  relating 
to  everybody  how  it  was  taken,  and  of  pointing  out  the 
thief,  who  was  in  the  meanwhile  perfectly  shameless."  * 

No  one,  however,  had  a  larger  and  more  choice  selection 
of  these  cashmere  shawls  than  Josephine.  Mdlle.  Ducrest 
relates  that  the  deceased  empress  had  more  than  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  of  the  most  magnificent  and  costly  cash- 
mere shawls.  She  had  sent  to  Constantinople  patterns 
from  which  she  had  them  made  there,  as  pleasing  to  the 
eye  as  they  were  costly  and  precious.  Every  week  M. 
Lenormant,  the  first  man-milliner  in  Paris,  came  to  Navarra, 
the  country  residence  of  the  empress,  and  brought  his  most 
beautiful  shawls  for  her  selection.  The  empress  possessed 
several  (having  a  white  ground  covered  with  roses,  violets, 
paroquets,  peacocks,  and  other  objects  of  beauty  hitherto 
unknown  in  France)  each  of  which  cost  from  fifteen  to 
twenty  thousand  francs. 

The  empress  went  so  far  in  her  passion  for  cashmeres 
as  to  have  dresses  made  of  the  same  material.  One  day  she 
had  put  on  one  of  these  dresses,  which  was  so  beautiful, 
that  some  gentlemen  invited  to  dinner  could  not  withhold 
their  admiration.  One  of  them.  Count  Pourtales,  thought 
that  this  splendid  material  would  be  well  adapted  for  a 
gentleman's  vest.  Josephine,  in  her  large-heartedness,  had 
a  pair  of  scissors  brought;  she  then  cut  her  dress  into 
several  pieces  sufficiently  large  for  a  vest,  and  divided  them 
among  the  gentlemen  present,  so  that  only  the  bodice  of 
the  dress  remained,  with  a  small  piece  around  the  waist. 
But  this  improvised  spencer  over  the  white  richly-em- 
broidered under-dress,  was  so  exceedingly  becoming  to  the 
empress,  and  brought  out  so  exquisitely  her  beautiful  bust, 
and  slender  graceful  waist,  that  it  would  have  been  easy  to 

*  Abrantes,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  ix.,  pp.  70-76. 


THE  CASHMERES  AND  THE  LETTER.  429 

consider  as  a  piece  of  coquetry  what  was  simply  Jose- 
phine's spontaneous  generosity.* 

Josephine,  however,  did  not  so  assiduously  attend  to  her 
cashmere  shawls  as  to  forget  the  unfortunate  rictims  of  the 
infernal  machine.  On  the  contrary,  she  saw  with  deep 
pain  how  every  one  was  busy  in  inculpating  others,  and  in 
casting  suspicions  on  royalists  and  Jacobins,  so  as  to  give 
a  pretext  to  punish  them.  She  noticed  that  all  those  who 
wished  to  gain  the  consul's  favor  were  zealous  in  spying  out 
fresh  culprits,  for  it  was  well  known  that  Bonaparte  was 
inclined  to  make  of  all  hostile  parties  a  terrible  example,  so 
that,  through  the  severity  of  the  punishment  and  the  num- 
ber of  the  punished,  he  might  deter  the  dissatisfied  from 
any  further  plots. 

Josephine's  compassionate  heart  was  distressed,  through 
sympathy  for  so  many  unfortunate  persons,  whom  wicked 
men  maliciously  were  endeavoring  to  drag  into  guilt,  so  as 
to  have  them  punished;  and  the  injustice  which  the  judges 
manifested  at  every  hearing  filled  her  with  anger  and 
horror.  Ever  ready  to  help  the  needy,  and  to  protect  the 
persecuted,  she  addressed  herself  to  Fouche,  the  minister  of 
police,  and  requested  him  to  use  mildness  and  compassion. 
She  wrote  to  him : 

"  Citizen  minister,  while  trembling  at  the  frightful  ca- 
lamity which  has  taken  place,  I  feel  uneasy  and  pained 
at  the  fear  of  the  punishments  which  hang  over  the  poor 
creatures  who,  I  am  told,  belong  to  families  with  which  I 
have  been  connected  in  days  past.  I  shall  therefore  be 
appealed  to  by  mothers,  sisters,  and  despairing  wives ;  my 
heart  will  be  lacerated  by  the  sad  consciousness  that  I  can- 
not obtain  pardon  for  all  those  who  implore  it. 

"  The  generosity  of  the  consul  is  great,  his  affection  for 
me  is  boundless,  I  know  it  well ;  but  the  crime  is  of  so 

*  *  Mademoiselle  Ducrest. 


4S0  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

awful  a  nature  that  he  will  deem  it  necessary  to  make  an 
example  of  extreme  severity.  The  supreme  magistrate  was 
not  alone  exposed  to  danger — many  others  were  killed  and 
wounded  by  this  sad  event,  and  it  is  this  which  will  make 
the  consul  severe  and  implacable. 

"  I  conjure  you,  then,  citizen  minister,  to  avoid  extend- 
ing your  researches  too  far,  and  not  always  to  spy  out  new 
persons  who  might  be  compromised  by  this  horrible  ma- 
chine. Must  France,  which  has  been  held  in  terror  by 
80  many  executions,  have  to  sigh  over  new  victims  ?  Is  it 
not  much  more  important  to  appease  the  minds  of  the 
people  than  to  excite  them  by  new  terrors  ?  Finally,  would 
it  not  be  advisable,  so  soon  as  the  originators  of  this  awful 
crime  are  captured,  to  have  compassion  and  mercy  upon 
subordinate  persons  who  may  have  been  entangled  in  it 
through  dangerous  sophisms  and  fanatical  sentiments  ? 

"  Barely  vested  with  the  supreme  authority,  ought  not 
the  first  consul  study  to  win  the  hearts  rather  than  to  make 
slaves  of  his  people  ?  Moderate,  therefore,  by  your  advice, 
where  in  his  first  excitement  he  may  be  too  severe.  To 
punish  is,  alas,  too  often  necessary  !  To  pardon  is,  I  trust, 
still  more.  In  a  word,  be  a  protector  to  the  unfortunate 
who,  through  their  confession  or  repentance,  have  already 
made  in  part  penance  for  their  guilt. 

"  As  I  myself,  without  any  fault  on  my  part,  nearly  lost 
my  life  in  the  revolution,  you  can  easily  understand  that  I 
take  an  interest  in  those  who  can  perhaps  be  saved  without 
thereby  endangering  my  husband's  life,  which  is  so  precious 
to  me  and  to  France.  I  therefore  earnestly  desire  that  you 
will  make  a  distinction  between  the  leaders  of  this  con- 
spiracy and  those  who,  from  fear  or  weakness,  have  been 
seduced  into  bringing  upon  themselves  a  portion  of  the 
guilt.  As  a  woman,  a  wife,  a  mother,  I  can  readily  feel  for 
all  the  heart-rending  agonies  of  those  families  which  ap- 
peal to  me. 


MALMAISON.  431 

"  Do  what  you  possibly  can,  citizen  minister,  to  diminish 
their  numbers ;  you  will  thereby  spare  me  much  anxiety. 
I  can  never  be  deaf  to  the  cries  of  distress  from  the  needy ; 
but  in  this  matter  you  can  do  a  great  deal  more  than  I  can, 
and  therefore  pardon  what  may  seem  strange  in  my  plead- 
ings with  you. 

"  Believe  in  my  gratitude  and  loyalty  of  sentiment. 

"  Josephine."  * 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

MALMAISON. 

In  the  Tuileries  the  first  consul,  with  his  wife,  resided 
in  all  the  pomp  and  dignity  of  his  new  oflfice.  There  he 
was  the  sovereign,  the  commander ;  there  he  ruled,  and, 
like  a  king,  all  bowed  to  him  ;  the  people  humbled  them- 
selves and  recognized  him  as  their  master. 

In  the  Tuileries  etiquette  and  the  stiff  pomp  of  a 
princely  court  prevailed  more  and  more.  Bonaparte  re- 
quired of  his  wife  that  she  should  there  represent  the 
dignity  and  the  grandeur  of  her  new  position ;  that  she 
should  appear  as  the  first,  the  most  exalted,  and  the  most 
unapproachable  of  women.  In  the  Tuileries  there  were  no 
more  evenings  of  pleasant  social  gatherings,  of  joyous  con- 
versation with  friends  whom  affection  made  equals,  and 
who,  in  love  and  admiration,  recognizing  Bonaparte's  'As- 
cendency, brought  him  of  their  own  free  choice  their  esteem 
and  high  consideration.  Now,  it  was  all  honor  and  duty; 
now,  the  friends  of  the  past  were  servants  who,  for  duty's 
sake,  had  to  be  subservient  to  their  master,  and  abide  by  the 
rules  of  etiquette,  otherwise  the  frown  on  their  lofty  ruler's 
brow  would  bring  them  back  within  their  bounds. 

*  Ducrest,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  iii.,  p.  231. 


432  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Josephine  was  pained  at  these  limits  set  to  her  personal 
freedom — at  these  claims  of  etiquette,  which  did  not  permit 
her  friends  to  remain  at  her  side,  but  strove  to  exult  above 
them  the  wife  of  the  first  consul.  Her  sense  of  modesty 
ever  accepted  the  pleasant,  genial  household  affections  as 
more  agreeable  and  more  precious  than  the  burdensome 
representations,  levees,  and  the  tediousness  of  ceremonial 
receptions ;  her  sense  of  modesty  longed  for  the  quiet  and 
repose  of  retirement,  and  she  was  happy  when,  at  the  close 
of  the  court  festivities,  she  could  return  to  Malmaison, 
there  to  enjoy  the  coming  of  spring,  the  blossoming  of  sum- 
mer, and  the  glorious  beauty  of  autumn  with  its  manifold 
colors. 

In  Malmaison  were  centered  all  her  joys  and  pleasures. 
There  she  could  satisfy  all  the  inclinations  of  her  heart,  all 
the  fancies  of  her  imagination,  all  the  wants  of  her  mind  ; 
there  she  could  be  the  tender  wife  and  mother,  and  the 
faithful  friend ;  there  she  could  receive,  without  the  annoy- 
ance of  etiquette,  men  of  learning  and  art ;  there  she  could 
cultivate  the  soil  and  devote  herself  to  botany,  her  favorite 
study,  and  to  her  flowers,  the  dearest  and  most  faithful 
friends  of  her  whole  life. 

Josephine  sought  for  and  found  in  Malmaison  her 
earthly  paradise;  there  she  was  happy,  and  the  care  and 
the  secret  anguish  which  in  Paris  wove  around  her  heart  its 
network,  and  every  now  and  then  whispered  the  nefarious 
words  of  divorce  and  separation,  followed  her  not  in  the 
beautiful  and  friendly  Malmaison ;  she  left  all  this  in  Paris 
with  the  stiff  Madame  Etiquette,  who  once  in  the  Tuileries 
had  poisoned  the  existence  of  the  Queen  Marie  Antoinette, 
and  now  sought  to  intrude  herself  upon  the  consulate  as  an 
ill-tempered  sovereign. 

But  in  Malmaison  there  was  no  etiquette,  none  of  the 
dignified  coldness  of  court-life.  There  you  were  allowed  to 
laugh,  to  jest,  and  to  be  happy.     In  Malmaison  the  first 


MALMAISON.  433 

consul  laid  aside  his  gravity ;  there  his  gloomy  brow  bright- 
ened, and  he  became  again  General  Bonaparte,  the  lover  of 
his  Josephine,  the  confidential  companion  of  his  friends, 
the  harmless  individual,  who  seemed  to  have  nothing  to  re- 
quire from  Heaven  but  the  happiness  of  the  passing  hour, 
and  who  could  laugh  at  a  joke  with  the  same  guilelessness  as 
any  other  child  of  the  people  who  never  deemed  it  neces- 
sary to  cultivate  a  close  intimacy  with  the  grave  and  gloomy 
Madame  Politique. 

It  is  true  Malmaison  was  not  Bonaparte's  sole  country 
residence.  The  city  of  Paris  had  presented  him  with  the 
pleasure-castle  of  St.  Cloud,  the  same  which  Louis  XVI. 
gave  to  his  wife,  and  where,  to  the  very  great  annoyance  of 
the  proud  Parisians,  she  had  for  the  first  time  engraven  on 
the  regulation-tablets,  at  the  entrance  of  the  park,  the  fatal 
words — ^^  Depar  la  Reine." 

Now  this  royal  mansion  of  pleasure  belonged  to  the  first 
consul  of  the  republic ;  it  was  his  summer  residence,  but 
there  he  was  still  the  consul,  the  first  magistrate,  and  the 
representative  of  France ;  and  he  had  there  to  give  recep- 
tions, hold  levees,  receive  the  ministers,  councillors  of  state, 
and  the  foreign  ambassadors,  and  appear  in  all  the  pomp 
and  circumstance  of  his  position. 

But  in  Malmaison  his  countenance  and  his  being  were 
changed.  Here  he  was  the  cheerful  man,  enjoying  life  ;  he 
was  the  joyous  companion,  the  modest  land-owner,  who 
with  genial  delight  surveyed  the  produce  of  his  soil,  and 
even  calculated  how  much  profit  it  could  bring  him. 

"The  first  consul  in  Malmaison,"  said  the  English 
minister.  Fox,  "  the  first  consul  in  St.  Cloud,  and  the  first 
consul  in  the  Tuileries,  are  three  different  persons,  who 
together  form  that  great  and  wonderful  idea  ;  I  should  ex- 
ceedingly like  to  be  able  to  represent  exactly  after  nature 
these  three  portraits ;  they  must  be  very  much  alike,  and 
yet  very  different." 


434  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPH INE. 

It  is  certain,  however,  that  of  these  three  portraits  that 
of  the  first  consul  in  Malmaison  was  the  most  amiable,  and 
that  of  the  first  consul  of  the  Tuileries  the  most  imposing. 

In  Malmaison  Bonaparte's  countenance  was  cheerful  and 
free  from  care  ;  in  the  Tuileries  he  was  grave  and  dignified. 
On  his  clouded  brow  were  enthroned  great  designs ;  from 
the  deep,  dark  eyes  shot  lightnings  ready  to  fire  a  world — 
to  erect  or  destroy  kingdoms.  In  Malmaison  these  eyes 
with  cheerful  brilliancy  reposed  on  Josephine ;  his  otherwise 
earnest  lips  welcomed  there  the  beloved  of  his  heart  with 
merry  pleasantry  and  spirited  raillery ;  there  he  loved  to  see 
Josephine  in  simple,  modest  toilet ;  and  if  in  the  lofty  halls 
of  the  Tuileries  he  exacted  from  the  wife  of  the  first  consul 
a  brilliant  toilet,  the  bejewelled  magnificence  of  the  first 
lady  of  France,  he  was  delighted  when  in  Malmaison  he  saw 
coming  through  the  green  foliage  the  wife  of  General  Bo- 
naparte in  simple  white  muslin,  with  a  laughing  counte- 
nance ;  and  with  her  sweet  voice,  which  he  still  considered 
as  the  finest  music  he  ever  heard,  she  bade  welcome  to  her 
husband  who  here  was  changed  into  her  tender  lover. 

In  Malmaison,  Bonaparte  would  even  put  off  his  gen- 
eral's uniform,  and,  in  his  plain  gray  coat  of  a  soldier,  walk 
through  the  park  in  the  neighborhood,  resting  on  the  arm 
of  his  confidant,  Duroc,  and  would  begin  a  friendly  conver- 
sation with  the  first  farmer  he  met,  perfectly  satisfied  when 
in  the  little  man  with  the  gray  tightly-buttoned  coat,  no 
one  suspected  or  imagined  to  see  the  first  consul  of  the  re- 
public. 

Every  Saturday  the  first  consul  hastened  to  the  chateau 
to  pass  there,  as  he  said,  his  Sunday,  his  day  of  rest ;  and 
only  on  Monday  morning  did  he  return  to  Paris,  "  to  take 
up  his  chain  again." 

How  genial  and  happy  were  these  days  of  rest !  How 
eagerly  did  Josephine  labor  to  make  them  days  of  felicity 
for  Bonaparte  !  how  ingenious  to  prepare  for  him  new  fes- 


MALMAISON.  435 

tivities  and  new  surprises !  and  how  her  eyes  brightened 
when  she  had  succeeded  in  making  Bonaparte  joyous  and 
contented ! 

If  the  weather  was  favorable,  the  whole  company  in  Mal- 
maison,  the  young  generals,  with  their  beautiful,  young,  and 
lively  wives,  who  surrounded  Bonaparte  and  Josephine,  and 
of  whom  a  great  number  belonged  to  their  family,  made 
promenades  through  the  park,  then  they  seated  themselves 
on  a  fine  spot  to  repeat  stories  or  to  indulge  in  harmless 
sociable  games,  in  which  Bonaparte  with  the  most  cheerful 
alacrity  took  part.  Even  down  to  the  game  of  *'  catch  "  and 
to  that  of  "room-renting"  did  Bonaparte  condescend  to 
play ;  and  as  Marie  Antoinette  with  her  husband  and  her 
court  played  at  blindman's-buff  in  the  gardens  of  Trianon, 
so  Bonaparte  was  pleased  on  the  lawns  of  Malmaison  to  play 
at  "  room- renting." 

How  often  after  a  dark,  cloudy  morning,  when  suddenly 
at  noon  the  skies  would  become  clear  and  the  sunshine 
break  through  the  clouds,  would  Bonaparte's  countenance 
gladden  with  all  the  spirit  of  a  school-boy,  in  the  midst  of 
holidays,  and,  throwing  off  his  coat,  laughingly  exclaim, 
"  Now  come,  one  and  all,  and  let  us  rent  the  room  ! " 

And  then  on  the  large,  open  lawn,  surrounded  on  all 
sides  by  tall  trees,  the  first  consul  with  his  wife,  his  generals 
and  their  young  wives,  would  begin  the  exhilarating,  harm- 
less child's-play,  forgetful  of  all  care,  void  of  all  fear,  except 
that  he  should  lose  his  tree,  and  that  as  a  penniless  individ- 
ual having  to  rent  a  room  he  would  have  to  stand  in  the 
centre  before  all  eyes,  just  as  first  consul  he  stood  before,  all 
eyes  in  the  centre  of  France,  and  struggled  for  a  place  the 
importance  and  title  of  which  were  known  only  to  his  silent 
soul. 

But  in  Malmaison,  at  the  game  of  "  room  to  let,"  Bona- 
parte had  no  remembrance  whatever  of  the  ambitious  wishes 
of  the  first  consul ;  the  whole  world  seemed  to  have  set ;  the 


436  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE, 

memories  of  his  youth  passed  before  his  eyes  in  such  beauty, 
saluting  him  with  the  gracious  looks  of  childhood,  as  nearly 
to  make  him  an  enthusiast. 

How  often,  when  on  Josephine's  arm,  surrounded  by  a 
laughing,  noisy  group  of  friends,  and  walking  through  shady 
paths,  on  hearing  the  bells  of  the  neighboring  village  chime 
their  vespers,  would  Bonaparte  suddenly  interrupt  the  con- 
versation and  stand  still  to  hear  them  !  With  a  motion  of 
the  hand  he  would  command  silence,  while  he  listened  with 
a  smile  of  grief  to  sounds  which  recalled  days  long  gone  by. 
"  These  bells  remind  me  of  the  days  of  my  boyhood,"  said 
he  to  Josephine  ;  "  it  seems  to  me,  when  I  hear  them,  that 
I  am  still  in  Brienne." 

To  keep  alive  the  memories  of  his  school-days  in  Brienne, 
he  sent  for  one  of  his  teachers,  the  Abb6  Dupuis,  who  had 
been  remarkably  kind  to  him,  and  invited  him  to  Mal- 
maison,  to  arrange  there  a  library,  and  to  take  charge  of  it ; 
he  sent  also  for  the  porter  of  Brienne  whose  wife  he  had  so 
severely  prohibited  from  entering  the  theatre,  and  made  him 
the  porter  of  the  chateau. 

.  In  bad  weather  and  on  rainy  days  the  whole  company 
gathered  in  the  large  drawing-room,  and  found  amusement 
in  playing  the  various  games  of  cards,  in  which  Bonaparte 
not  only  took  much  interest,  but  in  which  he  so  eagerly 
played,  that  he  often  had  recourse  to  apparent  bungling, 
so  as  to  command  success.  Adjoining  the  drawing-room, 
where  conversation  and  amusements  took  place,  was  a  room 
where  the  company  sang  and  practised  music,  to  the  delight 
of  Bonaparte,  who  often,  when  one  of  his  favorite  tunes 
was  played,  would  chime  in  vigorously  with  the  melody,  no- 
wise disturbed  by  the  fact  that  he  never  could  catch  the 
right  tune,  and  that  he  broke  out  every  time  into  distressing 
discordance ! 

But  all  songs  and  music  subsided,  all  plays  were  inter- 
rupted, when  Bonaparte,  excited  perhaps  by  the  approaching 


MALMAISON.  437 

twilight,  or  by  some  awakened  memory,  began  to  relate  one 
of  those  tragic,  fearful  stories  which  no  one  could  tell  so 
well  as  he.  Then,  with  arms  folded  behind  his  back,  he 
slowly  paced  the  drawing-room,  and  with  sinister  looks, 
tragic  manner,  and  sepulchral  voice,  he  would  begin  the 
solemn  introduction  of  his  narrative : 

"  When  death  strikes,  at  a  distance,  a  person  whom  we 
love,"  said  he,  one  evening,  with  a  voice  tremulous  with 
horror,  "  a  certain  foreboding  nearly  always  makes  us  an- 
ticipate the  event,  and  the  person,  touched  by  the  hand  of 
death,  appears  to  us  at  the  moment  we  lose  him  on  earth." 

"  How  very  sad  and  mournful  that  sounds ! "  sighed 
Josephine,  as  she  placed  both  her  arms  on  Bonaparte's 
shoulder,  as  if  she  would  hold  him,  and  chain  him  to  earth, 
that  he  might  not  vanish  away  with  every  ghost-like  form. 

Bonaparte  turned  to  her  with  a  genial  smile,  and  shook 
his  head  at  her,  so  as  to  assure  her  of  his  existence  and  his 
love.  Then  he  began  his  story  with  all  the  earnestness  and 
tragic  power  of  an  improvisator  of  ancient  Eome.  He  told 
how  once  Louis  XIV.,  in  the  great  gallery  of  Versailles,  re- 
ceived the  bulletin  of  the  battle  of  Friedlingen,  and  how, 
unfolding  it,  he  read  to  the  assembled  court  the  names  of 
the  slain  and  of  the  wounded.  Quietness  reigned  in  the 
splendidly-illumined  gallery  ;  and  the  courtiers  in  their  em- 
broidered coats,  who,  ordinarily,  were  so  full  of  merriment 
and  so  high-spirited,  had,  all  at  once,  become  thoughtful. 
They  gathered  in  a  circle  around  the  monarch,  from  whose 
lips  slowly,  like  falling  tears,  fell  one  by  one  the  names  of 
the  killed.  Here  and  there  the  cheeks  of  their  relatives 
turned  pale.  Suddenly  the  Count  de  Beaugr6  saw  appear, 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  gallery,  stately  and  ghost-like, 
the  blood-stained  figure  of  his  son,  who,  with  eyes  wide 
open,  stared  at  his  father,  and  saluted  him  with  a  slight 
motion  of  the  head,  and  then  glided  away  through  the 
door.     "  My  son  is  dead ! "  cried  Count  de  Beaugre — and. 


438  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

at  the  very  same  moment,  the  king  uttered  his  name  as 
one  of  the  slain ! "  * 

"  Ah !  may  I  never  see  such  a  ghost-like  figure,"  mur- 
mured Josephine,  drawing  closer  to  her  husband.  "  Bona- 
parte, promise  me  that  you  will  never  go  to  war  again ;  that 
you  will  keep  peace  with  all  the  world,  so  that  I  may  have 
no  cause  of  alarm  !  " 

"  And  to  tremble  at  my  ghost,"  exclaimed  Bonaparte, 
laughing.  "  Look  at  this  selfish  woman,  she  does  not  wish 
me  a  hero's  death,  lest  I  should  appear  to  her  here  in  the 
shape  of  a  bloody  placard ! " 

With  her  small  bejewelled  hand  Josephine  closed  his 
mouth,  and  ordered  lights  to  be  brought ;  she  asked  Lava- 
lette  to  play  a  lively  dancing-tune,  and  cried  out  to  the  joy- 
ous youthful  group,  at  the  head  of  whom  were  Hortense  and 
Eugene,  to  fall  in  for  a  dance. 

"  Nothing  more  charming,"  writes  the  Duchess  d'Abran- 
tes,  "  could  be  seen  than  a  ball  in  Malmaison,  made  up 
as  it  was  of  the  young  ladies  whom  the  military  family 
of  the  first  consul  brought  together,  and  who,  without  hav- 
ing the  name  of  it,  formed  the  court  of  Madame  Bonaparte. 
They  were  all  young,  many  of  them  very  beautiful ;  and 
when  this  lovely  group  were  dressed  in  white  crape,  adorned 
with  flowers,  their  heads  crowned  with  wreaths  as  fresh  as 
the  hues  of  their  young,  laughing,  charming  faces,  it  was 
indeed  a  bewitching  sight  to  witness  the  animated  and  lively 
dance  in  these  halls,  through  which  walked  the  first  consul, 
surrounded  by  the  men  with  whom  he  discussed  and  decided 
the  destinies  of  Europe."  f 

But  the  best  and  most  exciting  amusement  in  Malmaison 
was  the  theatre  ;  and  nothing  delighted  Bonaparte  so  much 
as  this,  where  the  young  troop  of  lovers  in  the  palace  per- 

•  Bourrienne,  "  M6raoires,"  vol.  iii.,  p.  226. 
f  Abrantes,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  iii.,  p.  329. 


MALMAISON.  43© 

formed  little  operas  and  vaudevilles,  and  went  through  their 
parts  with  all  the  eagerness  of  real  actors,  perfectly  happy 
in  having  the  consul  and  his  wife  for  audience.  In  Mal- 
maison,  Bonaparte  abandoned  himself  with  boundless  joy  to 
his  fondness  for  the  theatre ;  here  he  applauded  with  all  the 
gusto  of  an  amateur,  laughed  with  the  laisser-aller  of  a  coL 
lege-boy  at  the  harmless  jokes  of  the  vaudevilles,  and  here 
also  he  took  great  pleasure  in  the  dramatic  performances  of 
Eugene,  who  excelled  especially  in  comic  rdles. 

Bonaparte  had  a  most  convenient  stage  constructed  in 
Malmaison  for  his  actors ;  he  had  the  most  beautiful  cos- 
tumes made  for  each  new  piece,  and  the  actors  Talma  and 
Michet  had  to  come  every  week  to  the  chateau,  to  give  the 
young  people  instruction  in  their  parts.  The  ordinary  ac- 
tors of  this  theatre  in  the  castle  were  Eugene  and  Hortense, 
Caroline  Murat,  Lauriston,  M.  Didelot,  the  prefect  of  the 
palace,  some  of  the  officers  attached  to  the  establishment, 
and  the  Count  Bourrienne,  the  friend  of  Bonaparte's  youth, 
who  now  had  become  the  first  secretary  of  the  consul.  The 
pieces  which  Bonaparte  attended  with  the  greatest  pleasure 
were  the  "  Barber  of  Seville,"  and  "  Mistrust  and  Malice.'* 
The  young  and  amiable  Hortense  made  an  excellent  Rosine 
in  the  "  Barber  of  Seville,"  and  Bonaparte  never  failed  to 
clap  his  hands  in  hearty  applause  to  Hortense,  when  Jose- 
phine with  cheerful  smiles  would  thank  him,  for  she  seemed 
as  proud  of  her  daughter's  talent  as  of  her  husband's  ap- 
plause. 

Bourrienne,  in  his  memoirs,  gives  a  faithful  description 
of  those  evening  theatrical  performances,  and  of  the  happy 
life  enjoyed  in  Malmaison ;  .he  lingers  with  a  sober  joy  over 
those  beautiful  and  innocent  memories  of  other  days. 

"  Bonaparte,"  says  he,  "  found  great  pleasure  in  our  dra- 
matic entertainments  ;  he  loved  to  see  comedies  represented 
by  those  who  surrounded  him,  and  oftentimes  paid  us  flatter- 
ing compliments.    Though  it  amused  me  as  much  as  it  did 

119 


440  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

the  others,  yet  I  was  more  than  once  obliged  to  call  Bona- 
parte's attention  to  the  fact  that  my  other  occupations 
did  not  give  me  time  enough  to  learn  my  parts.  lie  then, 
in  his  flattering  way,  said :  '  Ah,  Bourrienne,  let  me  alone. 
You  have  so  excellent  a  memory !  You  know  that  this  is 
an  amusement  to  me  !  You  see  that  these  performances  en- 
liven Malmaison  and  make  it  cheerful !  Josephine  is  so  fond 
of  them !    Rise  a  little  earlier  ! ' 

"  '  It  is  a  fact — I  sleep  a  great  deal ! ' 

"  ^AUons,  Bourrienne,  do  it  to  please  me;  you  do  make 
me  laugh  so  heartily !  Deprive  me  not  of  this  pleasure. 
You  know  well  that  otherwise  I  have  but  few  recreations.' 

"  '  Ah,  parhUu  !  I  will  not  deprive  you  of  it.  I  am  hap- 
py to  be  able  to  contribute  something  to  your  amusement.' 
Consequently  I  rose  earlier,  to  learn  my  parts. 

"  On  the  theatre  days  the  company  at  Malmaison  was 
always  very  large.  After  the  performance  a  brilliant  crowd 
undulated  like  waves  in  the  halls  of  the  first  story.  The 
most  animated  and  varied  conversation  took  place,  and  I  can 
truly  affirm  that  cheerfulness  and  sincerity  were  the  life  of 
those  conversations,  and  their  principal  charm.  Refresh- 
ments of  all  kinds  were  distributed,  and  Josephine  per- 
formed the  honors  of  those  gatherings  with  so  much  amia- 
bleness  and  complacency  that  each  one  might  believe  she 
busied  herself  more  with  him  than  with  any  one  else.  At 
the  end  of  the  delightful  soirees,  which  generally  closed 
after  midnight,  we  returned  to  Paris,  where  the  cares  of  life 
awaited  us."  * 

Time  was  spent  not  only  in  festivities  and  amusements 
at  Malmaison,  but  sciences  and  arts  also  formed  there  a  se- 
rious occupation,  and  it  was  Josephine  who  was  the  prime 
mover.  She  invited  to  the  chateau  painters,  sculptors,  nm- 
sicians,  architects,  and  savants  of  every  profession,  and  thus 
to  the  Graces  she  added  the  Arts  for  companions. 

*  Bourrienne,  "  Memoires,"  voL  v.,  p.  2fti 


FLOWERS  AND  MUSIC.  441 

CHAPTER  XXZVII. 

FLOWERS  AND   MUSIC. 

Above  all  things,  Josephine,  in  her  retreat,  devoted  her 
time  and  leisure  hours  to  botany  and  to  her  dear  flowers. 
Alexander  Lenoir,  the  famous  architect  of  that  day,  had  to 
assist  her  in  enlarging  the  little  castle  of  Malmaison,  and  to 
open  more  suitable  halls  for  the  arts  and  sciences.  Under 
Josephine's  direction  there  arose  the  splendid  library -room 
resting  upon  columns ;  it  was  Josephine  who  had  the  beau- 
tiful gallery  of  paintings  constructed,  and  also  with  remark- 
able judgment  purchased  a  selection  of  the  finest  paint- 
ings of  the  great  masters  to  adorn  this  gallery.  Besides 
which,  she  gave  to  living  painters  orders  of  importance,  and 
encouraged  them  to  originate  new  pieces,  that  art  itself 
might  have  a  part  in  the  new  era  of  peace  and  prosperity, 
which,  under  the  consulate,  seemed  to  spread  over  France. 

Alongside  of  the  paintings  Josephine  adorned  this  gal- 
lery with  the  finest  antique  statues,  with  a  collection  of  the 
rarest  painted  vases  of  Pompeii,  and  with  ten  paintings  on 
cement,  memorials  of  Grecian  art,  representing  the  nine 
Muses  and  Apollo  Mersagetos.  These  last  splendid  subjects 
were  a  present  which  the  King  of  Naples  had  given  to  Jose- 
phine during  her  residence  in  Italy.  Always  attentive  not 
only  to  promote  the  arts,  but  also  to  help  the  artists  and  to 
increase  their  reputation,  Josephine  would  buy  some  new 
pieces  of  sculpture,  and  give  them  a  place  in  Malmaison. 
The  two  most  exquisite  masterpieces  of  Canova,  "  The 
Dancing-Girl "  and  "  Paris,"  were  purchased  by  Josephine 
at  an  enormous  price  for  her  gallery,  whose  chief  ornament 
they  were. 

Her  fondness  for  flowers  was  such  that  she  spared  neither 
expense  nor  labor  to  procure  those  worthy  of  Malmaison. 
She  caused  also  large  green-houses  and  hot-houses  to  be 


443  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

constructed,  the  latter  suited  to  the  culture  of  the  pineapple 
and  of  the  peach.  In  the  green-houses  were  found  flowers 
and  plants  of  every  zone,  and  of  all  countries.  People, 
knowing  her  taste  for  botany,  sent  her  from  the  most  re- 
mote places  the  choicest  plants.  Even  the  prince  regent 
of  England,  the  most  violent  and  bitter  enemy  of  the  first 
consul,  had  high  esteem  for  this  taste  of  Josephine ;  and 
during  the  war,  when  some  French  ships,  captured  by  the 
English,  were  found  to  have  on  board  a  collection  of  trop- 
ical plants  for  her,  he  had  them  carried  with  all  dispatch  to 
Madame  Bonaparte. 

Josephine  had  a  lofty  aim :  she  wanted  to  gather  into 
her  hot-houses  all  the  species  and  families,  all  the  varieties 
of  the  tropical  plants,  and  she  strove  to  accomplish  this 
with  a  perseverance,  a  zeal,  and  an  earnestness  of  which  no 
one  would  have  thought  her  indolent,  soft  Creole  nature 
capable.  To  increase  her  precious  collection,  she  spared 
neither  money  nor  time,  neither  supplications  nor  efforts. 
All  travellers,  all  seafaring  men,  who  came  into  her  draw- 
ing-room were  entreated  to  send  plants  to  Malmaison  ;  and 
even  the  secretary  of  the  navy  did  not  fail  to  give  instruc- 
tions to  the  captains  of  vessels  sailing  to  far-distant  lands 
to  bring  back  plants  for  the  wife  of  the  first  consul.  If 
it  were  a  matter  of  purchase,  nothing  was  too  expensive, 
and  when,  through  her  fondness  for  beautiful  objects,  Jose- 
phine's purse  was  exhausted,  and  her  means  curtailed,  she 
sooner  gave  up  the  purchase  of  a  beautiful  ornament  than 
that  of  a  rare  plant. 

The  hot-houses  of  Malmaison  caused,  therefore,  a  con- 
siderable increase  in  her  expenses,  and  were  a  heavy  burden 
to  her  treasury ;  and  for  their  sake,  when  the  day  of  pay- 
ment came,  Josephine  had  to  receive  from  her  husband 
many  severe  reproaches,  and  was  forced  to  shed  many  a 
bitter  tear.  But  this,  perhaps,  made  them  still  dearer ;  no 
sooner  were  the  tears  dried  up  and  the  expenses  covered, 


FLOWERS  AND  MUSIC.  443 

than  Josephine  again  abandoned  herself  with  renewed  zeal 
to  her  passion  for  collecting  plants  and  costly  studies  in 
botany,  especially  since  she  had  succeeded  in  winning  to  her 
person  the  renowned  botanist  and  learned  Bonpland,  and  in 
having  him  appointed  superintendent  of  her  gardens  and 
hot-houses.  It  was  Bonpland  who  cultivated  Josephine's 
inclination  for  botany,  and  exalted  her  passion  into  a  sci- 
ence. He  filled  the  green-houses  of  Malmaison  with  the 
rarest  plants,  and  taught  Josephine  at  the  same  time  their 
classifications  and  sexes,  and  she  quickly  proved  herself  to 
be  a  zealous  and  tractable  pupil.  She  soon  learned  the 
names  of  the  plants,  as  well  as  their  family  names,  as  classi- 
fied by  the  naturalists ;  she  became  acquainted  with  their 
origin  and  their  virtues,  and  was  extremely  sad  and  dejected 
when,  in  one  of  her  families,  a  single  species  was  wanting. 
But  what  a  joy  when  this  gap  was  filled !  No  price  was  too 
exorbitant,  then,  to  procure  the  missing  species;  and  one 
day  she  paid  for  a  small,  insignificant  plant  from  Chili  the 
high  price  of  three  thousand  francs,  filling  Bonpland  with 
ecstasy,  but  the  emperor  with  deep  wrath  as  soon  as  he 
heard  it.* 

Next  to  botany,  it  was  music  which  Josephine  delighted 
in  and  cultivated.  Since  the  cares  and  the  numerous  rela- 
tions of  her  diversified  life  claimed  so  much  of  her  time,  she 
had  abandoned  the  exercises  of  music ;  and  it  was  only  at 
the  hour  of  unusual  serenity  of  mind,  or  of  more  lively 
recollections  of  the  past,  that  she  was  heard  singing  softly 
one  of  the  songs  of  her  own  native  isle,  even  as  Bonaparte 
himself,  when  he  was  meditating  and  deciding  about  some 
new  campaign,  would  betray  the  drift  of  his  thoughts  by 
singing  louder  and  louder  the  favorite  melody  of  the  day, 
Marlborough  s'en  va-t-en  guerre.  But  Josephine  had  the  sat- 
isfaction that  Hortense  was  not  only  an  excellent  performer 

*  Avrillon,  "  Memoires  sur  I'lmperatrice  Josephine." 


444  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINK 

on  the  piano  and  the  harp,  but  that  she  could  also  write 
original  compositions,  whose  softness  and  harmonious  com- 
binations made  them  popular  throughout  France.  Another 
satisfaction  was,  that  Eugene  sang,  in  a  fine  clear  voice,  with 
great  talent,  and  that  frequently  he  would  by  his  excellent 
singing  draw  even  the  first  consul  into  loud  expressions  of 
admiration. 

Bonaparte  was  not  easily  satisfied  as  regards  singing ;  it 
was  seldom  that  music  elicited  any  commendation  from  him. 
The  Italian  music  alone  could  excite  his  enthusiasm,  and 
through  its  impassioned  fervor  rouse  him  up,  or  its  humor- 
ous passages  enliven  him.  Therefore  Bonaparte,  when  con- 
sul or  emperor,  always  patronized  the  Italian  music  in  pref- 
erence to  any  other,  and  he  constantly  and  publicly  expressed 
this  liking,  without  considering  how  much  he  might  thereby 
wound  the  French  artistes  in  their  ambition  and  love  of 
fame.  He  therefore  appointed  an  Italian  to  be  first  singer 
at  the  opera.  It  is  true  this  was  Maestro  Psesiello,  whose 
operas  were  then  making  their  way  through  Europe,  and 
everywhere  meeting  with  approbation.  Bonaparte  also  was 
extremely  fond  of  them,  and  at  every  opportunity  he  mani- 
fested to  the  maestro  his  good-will  and  approbation.  But 
one  day  this  commendation  of  Paesiello  was  changed  to  the 
most  stinging  censure.  It  was  on  the  occasion  of  the  first 
representation  of  Paesiello's  Zingari  in  Fiera.  The  first 
consul  and  his  wife  were  in  their  loge,  and  to  show  to  the 
public  how  much  he  honored  and  esteemed  the  composer, 
he  had  invited  Paesiello  to  attend  the  performance  in  his 
loge. 

Bonaparte  followed  the  performance  with  the  most  en- 
thusiastic demonstrations  of  gratification ;  he  heartily  ap- 
plauded each  part,  and  paid  to  Paesiello  compliments  which 
were  the  more  flattering  since  every  one  knew  that  the  lips 
which  uttered  them  were  not  profuse  in  their  use.  A  tenor 
part  had  just  ended,  and  its  effect  had  been  remarkable. 


FLOWERS  AND  MUSIC.  445 

The  audience  was  full  of  enthusiasm.  Bonaparte,  who  by 
his  hearty  applause  had  given  the  signal  to  a  storm  of 
cheers,  turned  toward  Paesiello,  and,  offering  him  his  hand, 
exclaimed : 

"  '^ruly,  my  dear  friend,  the  man  who  has  composed  this 
melody  can  boast  of  being  the  first  composer  in  Europe !  " 

Paesiello  became  pale,  his  whole  body  trembled,  and,  with 
stammering  voice,  he  said  : 

"  General,  this  melody  is  from  Cimarosa.  I  have  placed 
it  in  my  opera  merely  to  please  the  singers." 

The  first  consul  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  am  sorry,  my  dear  sir,"  said  he,  "  but  I  cannot  recall 
what  I  have  said." 

The  next  day,  however,  he  sent  to  the  composer  of  the 
opera,  as  an  acknowledgment  of  his  esteem,  a  magnificent 
present,  with  which  he  no  doubt  wished  to  heal  the  pain 
which  he  had  unwittingly  caused  the  maestro.  But  Pae- 
siello possessed  a  temper  easily  wounded,  and  the  more  sp 
since  he  considered  himself  as  the  first  and  greatest  com- 
poser in  the  world,  and  was  sincere  in  the  opinion  that  others 
could  compose  good  music,  but  that  his  alone  was  grand 
and  distinguished, 

Bonaparte's  present  could  not,  therefore,  heal  the  wound 
which  the  praise  of  Cimarosa's  melody  had  inflicted,  and 
this  wound  was  soon  to  be  probed  deeper,  and  become 
fatal  to  Paesiello.  Another  new  opera  from  Paesiello,  Pros- 
erpina^ was  to  be  represented.  The  first  consul,  who  was 
anxious  to  secure  for  his  protege  a  brilliant  success,  had 
given  orders  to  bring  it  out  in  the  most  splendid  style ;  the 
most  beautiful  decorations  and  the  richest  costumes  had 
been  provided,  and  a  stage  erected  for  a  ballet,  on  which 
the  favorite  ballet-leaders  of  Paris  were  to  practise  their 
art. 

The  mighty  first  consul  was,  on  the  evening  of  the  first 
performance  of  the  opera  of  Proserpina,  to  learn  the  lesson, 


446  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

that  there  exists  a  power  which  will  not  be  bound  in  fetters, 
and  which  is  stronger  and  more  influential  than  the  dic- 
tates of  the  mighty — the  power  of  public  opinion.  This 
stood  in  direct  opposition  to  the  first  consul,  by  the  voice- 
less, cold  silence  with  which  it  received  Paesiello's  piece. 
Bonaparte  might  applaud  as  heartily  as  he  pleased,  and 
that  might  elicit  an  echo  from  the  group  of  his  favorites, 
but  the  public  remained  unmoved,  and  Bonaparte  had  the 
humiliation  to  see  this  opera,  notwithstanding  his  appro- 
bation, prove  a  complete  failure.  He  felt  as  nervous  and 
excited  as  the  composer  himself,  for  he  declared  loudly  and 
angrily  that  the  French  knew  nothing  about  music,  and 
that  it  was  necessary  to  teach  them  that  the  Italians  alone 
understood  the  art  of  composition. 

To  teach  this  to  the  French  the  opera  of  Proserpiiw, 
was  to  be  repeated  until  the  mind  of  the  public  should 
have  been  educated  to  its  beauty,  and  they  had  been  forced 
to  acknowledge  it.  A  decided  warfare  ensued  between  this 
opera  and  the  public,  each  party  being  determined  to  have 
its  own  way ;  the  authorities  persevered  in  having  the  per- 
formance repeated,  and  the  public  kept  away  from  it  with 
equal  obstinacy.  The  latter,  however,  had  the  advantage  in 
this  case,  for  they  could  not  be  forced  to  attend  where  they 
were  unwilling  to  go,  and  so  they  won  the  victory,  and  the 
authorities  had  to  yield. 

Paesiello,  touched  to  the  quick  by  the  failure  of  Proser- 
pina, resigned  his  position  as  leader,  and  left  Paris  to  re- 
turn to  Italy.  The  question  now  was,  how  to  fill  this  im- 
portant and  honorable  position.  The  Parisians  were  excited 
about  this  nomination,  and  divided  into  two  parties,  each  of 
which  defended  its  candidate  with  the  greatest  zeal,  and 
maintained  that  he  would  be  the  one  who  would  receive 
Bonaparte's  appointment.  The  candidates  of  these  two 
parties  were  the  Frenchman  M6hul  and  the  Italian  Cheru- 
bini.    Those  who  formed  the  party  of  Cherubini  calculated 


FLOWERS  AND  MUSIC.  447 

especially  on  Bonaparte's  well-known  preference  for  Italian 
music.  They  knew  that,  though  he  was  much  attached  to 
Mehul,  whom  he  had  known  before  the  expedition  to  Egypt, 
and  had  shown  him  many  fayors,  yet  he  had  often  expressed 
his  contempt  for  French  music,  and  was  committed  against 
him  by  the  very  fact  of  his  maintaining  that  the  Italians 
alone  understood  the  art  of  musical  composition. 

Mehul  had  for  a  long  time  endured  in  silence  the  criti- 
cisms of  Bonaparte ;  he  had  patiently  returned  no  answer 
when  he  repeated  to  him :  "  Science,  and  only  science — that 
is  all  the  French  musicians  understand ;  my  dear  sir,  grace, 
melody,  and  joyousness,  are  unknown  to  you  Frenchmen 
and  to  the  Germans ;  the  Italians  alone  are  masters  here." 

One  day  Mehul,  having  become  tired  of  these  constant 
discouraging  remarks,  resolved  to  let  the  first  consul,  who  so 
often  gave  him  bitter  pills  to  swallow,  have  a  taste  of  them 
himself. 

He  went,  therefore,  to  his  friend,  the  poet  MarsoUier, 
and  begged  him  to  write  an  extremely  lively  and  extrava- 
gant piece,  whose  design  would  be  absurd  enough  to  make 
it  pass  as  the  work  of  some  Italian  pamphlet-writer,  and  at 
the  same  time  he  enjoined  the  most  profound  secrecy. 

MarsoUier  complied  willingly  with  the  wishes  of  his 
friend,  and  after  a  few  days  he  brought  him  the  text  for  the 
small  opera  Irato.  With  the  same  alacrity  did  Mehul  sit 
down  to  the  task  of  composing,  and  when  the  work  was 
done,  MarsoUier  went  to  the  committee  of  the  comic  opera 
to  tell  them  he  had  just  received  from  Italy  a  score  whose 
music  was  so  extraordinary  that  he  was  fully  convinced  of 
its  success,  and  had  therefore  been  to  the  trouble,  notwith- 
standing the  weakness  and  foolishness  of  the  libretto,  to 
translate  the  text  into  French.  The  committee  tried  the 
score,  was  enchanted  with  the  music,  and  was  fully  con- 
vinced of  the  brilliant  success  of  the  little  opera,  inasmuch 
as  the  strange  and  lively  text  was  well  adapted  to  excite  the 


448  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

hilarity  and  the  merriment  of  the  public.  The  first  singers 
of  the  opera  were  rivals  for  the  parts ;  all  the  newspapers 
published  the  pompous  advertisement  that  in  a  short  time 
would  be  performed  at  the  Opera  Comique  a  charming,  en- 
trancing opera,  the  maiden  piece  of  a  young  Italian. 

Finally  its  first  performance  was  announced;  the  first 
consul  declared  that  he  and  his  wife  would  attend,  and  he 
invited  Mehul,  whom  he  liked  to  tease  and  worry,  because 
he  loved  him  from  his  heart,  to  attend  the  performance  ju 
his  loge. 

"  It  will  undoubtedly  be  a  mortification  to  you,  my  poor 
friend,"  said  he,  laughing;  "but  perhaps  when  you  hear 
this  enchanting  music,  so  different  from  that  of  the  French, 
you  will  imitate  it,  and  cease  composing." 

M6hul  replied  with  a  bow;  he  then  began  to  excuse 
himself  from  accompanying  the  first  consul  to  the  theatre ; 
and  it  was  only  after  Bonaparte  and  Josephine  had  presseti 
him  very  much,  that  he  accepted  the  invitation,  and  went 
with  them  to  their  loge. 

The  opera  began,  and,  immediately  after  the  first  melody, 
Bonaparte  applauded  and  expressed  his  admiration.  There 
never  had  been  any  thing  more  charming — never  had  the 
French  written  music  with  so  much  freshness,  elegance,  or 
so  naturally.  Bonaparte  continued  his  praise,  and  often- 
times repeated :  "  It  is  certain  there  is  nothing  superior  to 
Italian  music." 

At  last  the  opera  ended  amid  a  real  storm  of  applause ; 
and,  with  their  enthusiasm  at  the  highest  pitch,  the  audi- 
ence claimed  to  know  the  names  of  the  poet  and  of  the  com- 
poser. After  a  long  pause  the  curtain  rose  and  the  registrar 
appeared  ;  he  made  the  three  customary  bows,  and  in  a  loud 
voice  named  Marsollier  as  the  author  and  M6hul  as  the  com- 
poser of  the  opera  Irato. 

The  audience  received  this  news  with  an  unceasing 
storm  of  applause.     They,  like  the  consul  and  the  singers 


FLOWERS  AND  MUSIC.  449 

who  had  taken  part   in  the  opera,  knew  nothing  of  the 
mystification,  so  well  had  the  secret  been  kept. 

Josephine  turned  smilingly  to  Bonaparte,  and  with  her 
own  charming  grace  offered  her  hand  to  Mehul  and  thanked 
him  for  the  twofold  enjoyment  he  had  that  day  prepared 
for  her,  by  furnishing  her  his  entrancing  opera,  and  by 
having  prepared  a  little  defeat  of  Bonaparte,  that  traitor 
to  his  country,  who  dared  prefer  the  Italian  music  to  the 
French. 

Bonaparte  himself  looked  at  the  affair  on  its  bright 
side ;  he  had  enjoyed  the  opera ;  he  had  laughed ;  he  was 
satisfied,  and  consequently  he  overlooked  the  deceitful  sur- 
prise. 

"  Conquer  me  always  in  this  manner ! "  said  he,  laugh- 
ing, to  Mehul,  "  and  I  shall  enjoy  both  your  fame  and  my 
amusement." 

The  friends  of  Cherubini  thought  of  this  little  event 
when  the  question  arose  as  to  the  appointment  to  the  situa- 
vion  of  first  singer  at  the  Grand  Opera,  and  they  therefore 
flid  not  hesitate  to  wager  that  Cherubini  would  be  ap- 
pointed, since  he  was  an  Italian. 

But  they  knew  not  that  Bonaparte  had  pardoned  Mehul, 
and  frequently  joked  with  him,  whilst  he  ever  grumbled  at 
Cherubini  on  account  of  an  expression  which  the  latter 
had  once  allowed  himself  to  use  against  General  Bona- 
parte. 

Bonaparte  had  conversed  with  Cherubini  after  a  repre- 
sentation of  one  of  his  operas,  and,  while  he  congratulated 
him,  he  however  added  that  this  opera  did  not  please  him 
as  much  as  the  other  pieces  of  Cherubini — that  he  thought 
it  somewhat  sober  and  scientific,  and  that  he  missed  in  it 
the  accustomed  richness  of  the  maestroh  melodies.  This 
criticism  wounded  Cherubini  as  if  pierced  by  a  dagger; 
and  with  the  irritable  vehemence  of  an  Italian  he  replied: 
^'  General,  busy  yourself  in  winning  battles — that  is  your 


450  THE  EMPRKbS  JOSEPHINE. 

trade  ;  but  leave  me  to  practise  mine,  about  which  you  know 
nothing." 

The  Consul  Bonaparte  had  neither  forgotten  nor  par- 
doned Cherubini's  answer ;  and,  despite  his  fondness  for 
Italian  music,  he  was  resolved  to  give  to  M^hul  the  posi- 
tion vacated  by  Paesiello. 

Josephine  approved  entirely  of  this  choice,  and,  in  order 
to  witness  M^hul's  joy,  she  invited  him  to  Malmaison,  that 
the  consul  might  there  inform  him  of  his  appointment. 
How  great,  however,  was  her  and  Bonaparte's  surprise, 
when  Mehul,  instead  of  being  delighted  with  this  distin- 
guished appointment,  positively  refused  to  accept  it ! 

"  I  can  accept  this  position  only  under  one  condition," 
said  Mehul,  "  which  is,  that  I  may  be  allowed  to  divide  it 
with  my  friend  Cherubini." 

"Do  not  speak  to  me  about  him,"  exclaimed  Bona- 
parte, with  animation  ;  "  he  is  a  coarse  man,  and  I  cannot 
tolerate  him." 

"  He  may  have  had  the  misfortune  to  displease  you," 
replied  Mehul,  eagerly,  "  but  he  is  a  master  to  us  all,  and 
especially  as  regards  sacred  music.  He  now  is  in  a  very 
inferior  position ;  he  has  a  large  family,  and  I  sincerely  de- 
sire to  reconcile  him  to  you." 

"  I  repeat  to  you  that  I  do  not  wish  to  know  any  thing 
about  him." 

"  In  that  case  I  must  decline  the  position,"  said  Mehul, 
gravely,  "and  nothing  will  alter  my  resolution.  I  am  a 
member  of  the  Institute — Cherubini  is  not ;  I  do  not  wish 
it  to  be  said  that  I  have  misused  the  good-will  with  which 
you  honor  me  for  the  sake  of  confiscating  to  my  profit 
every  situation,  and  of  despoiling  a  man  of  reputation  of 
the  reward  to  which  he  is  most  justly  entitled." 

And  M6hul,  notwithstanding  Josephine's  intercession 
and  Bonaparte's  ill-will,  remained  firm  in  his  decision ;  he 
would  not  accept  the  honorable  and  distinguished  position 


FLOWERS  AND  MUSIC.  451 

of  first  singer  at  the  Grand  Opera ;  and  Bonaparte,  after  ex- 
pressing his  determination,  would  not  change  it.  Neither 
would  he  confer  upon  Cherubini  the  honor  refused  by 
M6hnl.  He  therefore  commissioned  Josephine  to  name  a 
successor  to  Paesiello ;  and  she  went  to  Madame  de  Montes- 
son,  to  confer  with  her  on  the  matter. 

Madame  de  Montesson  could  suggest  no  definite  plan, 
but  she  told  Josephine  of  a  French  composer,  of  the  name 
of  Lesueur,  who,  notwithstanding  his  great  talents,  lived  in 
his  native  city  of  Paris  poor  and  unknown,  and  who  had 
not  succeeded  in  having  his  opera,  "  The  Bards,"  repre- 
sented at  the  Grand  Opera,  simply  on  the  ground  that  he 
was  a  Frenchman,  and  that  every  one  knew  Bonaparte's 
strange  aversion  to  French  music. 

Josephine's  generous  heart  at  once  took  sides  with  Le- 
sueur ;  her  exquisite  tact  taught  her  that  the  public  ought 
to  know  that  the  first  consul  would  not  consult  his  own 
personal  gratification,  when  the  question  was  to  render 
justice  to  a  Frenchman.  She  therefore  recommended  to 
her  husband,  with  all  her  ability,  the  poor  composer  Lesueur, 
who  was  unknown  to  fame,  and  lost  in  obscurity ;  she  repre- 
sented his  appointment  as  such  an  act  of  generosity  and  of 
policy,  that  Bonaparte  acceded  to  her  wishes  at  once,  and 
appointed  Lesueur  to  the  office  of  first  master  of  the  Grand 
Opera. 

And  Josephine  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  that  the  new 
opera-leader  justified  her  expectations.  His  opera,  "The 
Bards,"  was  naturally  brought  into  requisition;  it  had  a 
brilliant  and  unexampled  success,  and  even  Bonaparte,  at 
the  first  representation,  forgot  his  prejudices  against  French 
music,  and  applauded  quite  as  heartily  as  if  it  had  been 
Italian. 


452  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

PEELUDE  TO  THE  EMPIRE. 

The  gun  of  happiness  which  for  Josephine  seemed  to 
shine  so  brightly  over  Malmaison,  had  nevertheless  its  long 
shadows  and  its  dark  specks ;  even  her  gracious  countenance 
was  obscured,  her  heart  filled  with  sad  forebodings,  and  her 
bosom  stung  as  if  by  scorpions  hidden  under  flowers. 

Josephine  had  in  her  immediate  circle  violent  and  bitter 
enemies,  who  were  ever  busy  in  undermining  the  influence 
which  she  possessed  over  her  husband,  to  steal  from  his 
heart  the  love  he  cherished  for  her,  and  to  remove  from 
his  side  the  woman  who,  by  her  presence,  kept  them  in  the 
shade,  and  who  wielded  or  destroyed  the  influence  which 
they  desired  to  have  over  him. 

These  enemies  were  the  brothers  and  especially  the  sis- 
ters of  Bonaparte.  Among  the  brothers  of  the  first  consul, 
Lucien  showed  to  his  sister-in-law  the  most  violent  and 
irreconcilable  enmity.  He  left  no  means  untried  to  do  her 
injury,  and  to  convert  her  into  an  object  of  suspicion,  and 
this  because  he  was  convinced  that  Josephine  was  the  prime 
cause  of  the  hostile  sentiments  of  Napoleon  against  him, 
and  because  he  believed  that,  Josephine  once  out  of  the 
way.  Napoleon's  ear  would  be  open  to  conviction,  and  that 
he,  Lucien,  the  most  powerful  citizen,  next  to  his  brother, 
would  be  the  second  "  first  consul."  He  was  not  aware 
that  Napoleon's  keen  eagle  eye  had  fathomed  his  ambitious 
heart ;  that  he  was  the  one  who  kept  Lucien  away,  because 
he  mistrusted  him,  because  he  feared  his  ambition,  and 
even  looked  upon  him  as  capable  of  the  bold  design  of  cast- 
ing Napoleon  aside,  and  setting  himself  up  in  his  place. 
Lucien  was  unaware  of  the  influence  which  Josephine  fre- 
quently exerted  over  the  mind  of  the  first  consul,  in  favor 
of  himself;  that  it  was  she  who  had  pacified  Napoleon's 


PRELUDE  TO  THE  EMPIRE.  453 

anger  at  Lucien's  marriage,  contracted  without  his  con- 
sent, and  prevented  him  from  annulling  it  violently.  The 
other  brothers  of  Napoleon,  influenced,  perhaps,  by  the 
enmity  of  Lucien,  were  also  disaffected  toward  their  sister- 
in-law,  and  of  them  all,  only  Louis,  the  youngest,  the  one 
who  loved  the  first  consul  most  tenderly  and  most  sincerely, 
showed  toward  her  due  respect  and  affection. 

His  three  sisters  were  still  more  active  in  their  opposi- 
tion. Constantly  quarrelling  among  themselves,  they,  how- 
ever, united  heartily  in  the  common  feeling  of  hatred  to 
Josephine.  It  was  she  who  stood  in  their  way,  who  every 
day  excited  anew  their  anger  by  the  position  she  held  at  Na- 
poleon's side,  and  in  virtue  of  which  the  three  sisters  were 
thrust  into  the  background.  Josephine,  the  wife  of  the  first 
consul,  was  the  one  to  whom  France  made  obeisance,  upon 
whom  the  ambassadors  of  foreign  powers  first  waited,  and 
afterward  upon  the  sisters  of  the  first  consul.  It  was  Jose- 
phine who  took  the  precedence  in  solemn  ceremonies,  and 
to  whom,  by  Bonaparte's  commands,  they  had  to  manifest 
respect.  And  this  woman,  who  by  her  eminence  placed  the 
sisters  of  Bonaparte  in  an  inferior  position,  was  not  of  no- 
bler or  more  distinguished  blood  than  they;  she  was  not 
young,  she  was  not  beautiful,  she  was  not  even  able  to  give 
birth  to  a  child,  for  which  her  husband  so  intensely  longed. 

The  three  sisters  might  have  been  submissive  to  the 
daughter  of  a  prince,  they  might  have  conceded  to  her  the 
right  of  precedence,  but  the  widow  of  the  Viscount  de 
Beauhamais  was  not  superior  to  them  in  rank  or  birth ;  she 
was  far  inferior  to  them  in  beauty  and  youth — and  yet  they 
had  to  give  way  to  her,  and  see  her  take  the  first  place ! 

From  these  sentiments  of  jealousy  and  envy  sprang  the 
enmity  which  the  three  sisters  of  Bonaparte,  Madame  Elise 
Bacciocchi,  Madame  Pauline  Borghese,  and  Madame  Caro- 
line Murat,  cherished  against  Josephine,  and  which  her 
gentle  words  and  kind  heart  could  never  assuage. 


454  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Josephine  was  in  their  way — she  must  therefore  fall. 
Such  is  the  key  to  the  right  understanding  of  the  conduct 
of  the  three  beautiful  sisters  of  Napoleon  toward  the  wife  of 
their  brother.  In  their  violence  they  disregarded  all  pro- 
priety, and  shrank  from  no  calumny  or  malice  to  accomplish 
their  ends.  It  was  a  constant  warfare  with  intrigues  and 
malicious  suspicions.  Every  action  of  Josephine  was  ob- 
served, every  step  was  watched,  in  the  hope  of  finding  some- 
thing to  render  her  suspicious  to  her  husband.  On  every 
occasion  the  three  sisters  besieged  him  with  complaints  con- 
cerning the  lofty  and  proud  demeanor  of  Josephine,  and 
ridiculed  him  about  his  old,  childless  wife,  who  stood  in  the 
way  of  his  growing  fame !  Though  Bonaparte  in  these  con- 
flicts always  sided  with  Josephine  against  his  sisters,  yet 
there  probably  remained  in  his  heart  a  sting  from  the  ridi- 
cule which  they  had  directed  against  him. 

This  hostility  of  the  Bonaparte  family  was  not  unknown 
to  Josephine ;  her  soul  suffered  under  these  ceaseless  at- 
tacks, her  heart  was  agonized  at  the  thought  that  the  efforts 
of  her  sisters-in-law  might  finally  succeed  in  withdrawing 
from  her  the  love  of  her  husband.  She  was  persuaded  that 
even  in  the  Bonaparte  family  she  needed  a  protector,  that 
she  must  look  for  one  among  the  brothers,  so  as  to  counter- 
act the  enmity  of  the  sisters ;  and  she  chose  for  this  Louis 
Bonaparte.  She  entreated  Napoleon  to  give  to  his  young, 
beloved  brother  the  hand  of  her  daugliter  Hortense.  It 
would  be  a  new  bond  chaining  Bonaparte  to  her — a  new 
fortress  for  her  love — if  he  would  but  make  her  daughter 
his  sister-in-law,  and  his  brother  her  son-in-law. 

Napoleon  did  not  oppose  her  wishes ;  he  consented  that 
Hortense  should  be  married  to  his  brother.  It  is  true  the 
young  people  were  not  consulted  ;  for  the  first  time,  Jose- 
phine's selfishness  got  the  better  of  her  love  for  her  child — 
she  sacrificed  the  welfare  of  her  daughter  to  secure  her  own 
happiness. 


PRELUDE  TO  THE  EMPIRE.  455 

But  Hortense  loved  another,  yet  she  yielded  to  the  en- 
treaties and  tears  of  her  mother,  and  became  the  wife  of 
this  laconic,  timid  young  man,  whose  meagre,  unpretending 
appearance  resembled  so  little  the  ideal  which  her  maidenly 
heart  had  pictured  of  her  future  husband. 

Louis  on  his  side  had  not  the  slightest  inclination  for 
Hortense ;  he  never  would  have  chosen  her  for  his  wife,  for 
their  characters  were  too  different;  their  inclinations  and 
wishes  were  not  in  sympathy  with  each  other.  But  through 
obedience  to  the  wishes  of  his  brother,  he  accepted  the  prof- 
fered hand  of  Josephine's  daughter,  and  became  the  hus- 
band of  the  beautiful,  blond-haired  Hortense  de  Beauhar- 
nais. 

In  February,  of  the  year  1802,  the  marriage  of  the  young 
couple  took  place,  and  this  family  event  was  celebrated  with 
the  most  magnificent  festivities.  Josephine's  joy  and  hap- 
piness were  complete: — she  had  thrown  a  bridge  over  the 
abyss,  and  was  now  secure  against  the  hostilities  of  her  sis- 
ters-in-law, by  giving  up  her  own  daughter. 

Every  thing  was  resplendent  with  beauty  and  joy  at 
these  festivities ;  every  thing  wore  an  appearance  of  happi- 
ness; only  the  countenances  of  the  newly-married  couple 
were  grave  and  sad,  and  their  deep  melancholy  contrasted 
strikingly  with  the  happiness  of  which  they  themselves  were 
the  cause.  Adorned  with  diamonds  and  flowers,  Hortense 
appeared  to  be  a  stranger  to  all  the  pomp  which  surrounded 
her,  and  to  be  occupied  only  with  her  own  sad  communings. 
Louis  Bonaparte  was  pale  and  grave,  like  Hortense ;  he  sel- 
dom addressed  a  word  to  the  young  wife  that  the  orders  of 
his  brother  had  given  him ;  and  she  avoided  her  husband's 
looks,  perhaps  to  hinder  him  from  reading  there  the  indif- 
ference and  dislike  she  felt  for  him.* 

But  Josephine  was  happy,  for  she  knew  the  noble,  faith- 

*  "  Memoires  sur  I'lmperatrice  Josephine,  la  CoHr  de  Navarre,"  etc., 
par  Mile,  Duerest,  vol.  i.,  p.  49. 
30 


456  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

ful,  and  generous  spirit  of  the  man  to  whom  she  had  given 
her  daughter ;  and  she  trusted  that  the  two  young  hearts, 
now  that  they  were  linked  together,  would  soon  love  one  an- 
other. She  hoped  much  more  from  this  alliance ;  she  hoped 
not  only  to  find  in  it  a  shield  against  domestic  animosities, 
but  also  to  give  to  her  husband,  even  if  indirectly,  the  chil- 
dren he  so  much  desired — for  the  offspring  of  his  brother 
and  the  daughter  of  his  Josephine  would  be  nearly  the  same 
as  his  own,  and  they  could  adopt  and  love  them  as  such. 
This  was  Josephine's  hope,  the  dream  of  her  happiness, 
when  she  gave  her  daughter  in  marriage  to  the  brother  of 
her  husband. 

The  fact  that  the  first  consul  was  childless  was  not  only 
a  family  solicitude,  it  was  also  a  political  question.  The 
people  themselves  had  changed  the  face  of  affairs,  they  had 
by  solemn  vote  decided  to  confer  the  consulate  for  life  upon 
Napoleon,  who  had  previously  been  elected  for  ten  years 
only.  In  other  words,  the  French  people  had  chosen  Bona- 
parte for  their  master  and  ruler,  and  he  now  lacked  but  the 
title  to  be  king.  Every  one  felt  and  knew  that  this  con- 
sulate for  life  was  but  the  prelude  to  royalty ;  that  the  gold- 
en laurel-wreath  of  the  first  consul  would  soon  be  converted 
into  a  golden  crown,  so  as  to  secure  to  France  an  enduring 
peace,  and  to  make  firm  its  political  situation. 

With  her  keen  political  instinct,  Josephine  trembled  at 
the  thought  that  the  King  or  Emperor  Bonaparte  would 
have  to  establish  for  himself  a  dynasty — that  he  would  have 
to  appease  the  apprehensions  of  France  by  offering  to  the 
nation  a  son  who  would  be  his  legitimate  heir  and  success- 
or. Thus  was  the  subject  of  divorce  kept  hanging  over 
her  head  until  the  conviction  was  forced  upon  her  mind 
that  some  day  Napoleon  would  be  led  into  sacrificing  his 
love  to  politics.  Josephine  was  conscious  of  it,  and  conse- 
quently the  hopes  of  Napoleon's  future  greatness,  which  so 
pleased  his  brothers  and  sisters,  only  made  her  sorrowful, 


PRELUDE  TO  THE  EMPIRE.  457 

and  she  therefore  entreated  Bonaparte  with  tender  appeal 
to  remain  content  with  the  high  dignity  he  ah*eady  pos- 
sessed, and  not  to  tempt  fate,  nor  to  allow  it  to  bear  him  up 
to  a  dizzy  height,  from  which  the  stormy  winds  of  adversity 
might  the  more  easily  prostrate  him. 

Bonaparte  listened  to  her  with  a  smile,  and  generally  in 
silence.  Once  only  he  replied  to  her :  "  Has  not  your 
prophetess  in  Martinique  told  you  that  one  day  you  would 
be  more  than  a  queen  ?  " 

"  And  the  prophecy  is  already  realized,"  exclaimed  Jose- 
phine. "  The  wife  of  the  consul  for  life  is  more  than  a 
queen,  for  her  husband  is  the  elect  of  thirty  millions  of 
hearts  !  "     Bonaparte  laughed,  and  said  nothing. 

Another  time  Josephine  asked  him — "  Now,  Bonaparte, 
when  are  you  going  to  make  me  Empress  of  the  Gauls  ?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  What  an  idea,"  said  he ; 
"  the  little  Josephine  an  empress  !  " 

Josephine  answered  him  with  the  words  of  Corneille — 
" '  Le  premier  qui  fut  roifiit  un  soldat  heureux  '  "  (the  first 
king  was  a  successful  soldier) ;  and  she  added,  "  The  wife  of 
this  fortunate  soldier  shares  his  rank." 

He  placed  his  small,  white  hand,  adorned  with  rings, 
under  her  chin,  and  gazed  at  her  with  a  deep,  strange 
look. 

"Now,  Josephine,"  said  he,  after  a  short  pause,  "your 
successful  soldier  is  only,  for  the  present,  consul  for  life, 
and  you  are  sharing  his  rank.  Be  careful,  then,  that  the 
wife  of  the  first  consul  surrounds  herself  with  all  the  bril- 
liancy and  the  pomp  which  beseem  her  dignity.  No  more 
economy,  no  more  modest  simplicity!  The  industry  of 
France  is  at  a  low  ebb — we  must  make  it  rise.  We  must 
give  receptions ;  we  must  prove  to  France  that  the  court  of 
a  consul  can  be  as  splendid  as  that  of  a  king.  You  under- 
stand what  pomp  is — none  better  than  you!  Now  show 
yourself  brilliant,  masrnificent.  so  that  the  other  ladies  may 


468  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

imitate  you.  But,  no  foreign  stuffs !  Silk  and  velvet  from 
the  fabrics  of  Lyons  ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Josephine,  with  charming  tenderness,  "  and 
when  afterward  my  bills  become  due,  you  cut  them  down — 
you  find  them  too  high." 

"  I  only  cut  down  what  is  too  exorbitant,"  said  Bona- 
parte, laughing.  "  I  have  no  objection  for  you  to  give  to 
the  manufacturers  any  amount  of  work  and  profit,  but  I  do 
not  wish  them  to  cheat  you."  * 

Henceforth,  the  consulate  began  gradually  to  exhibit  a 
splendor  and  pomp  which  were  behind  no  princely  court, 
and  which  relegated,  amid  the  dark  legends  of  the  fabulous 
past,  the  fraternity  and  the  equality  of  the  republic.  The 
absence  of  pretension,  and  the  simplicity  of  Malmaison, 
were  now  done  away  with ;  everywhere  the  consul  for  life 
was  followed  by  the  splendors  of  his  dignity,  and  everywhere 
Josephine  was  accompanied  by  her  court. 

For  now  she  had  a  court,  and  an  anteroom,  with  all  its 
intrigues  and  flatteries;  and  its  conspiracies  already  wove 
their  chains  around  the  consul  and  his  wife.  It  was  not 
suddenly,  it  was  not  spontaneously,  that  this  court  of  the 
first  consul  was  formed ;  two  years  were  required  for  its  or- 
ganization— two  years  of  unceasing  labor  on  the  new  code  of 
regulations,  which  etiquette  dictated  from  the  remembrances 
of  the  past  to  the  palace-oflficers  of  the  Consul  Bonaparte. 
"  How  was  this  in  times  past  ?  What  was  the  practice  ?  " 
Such  were  the  constant  questions  in  the  interior  of  the 
Tuileries,  and  for  the  answers  they  appealed  to  Madame  de 
Montesson,  to  the  old  courtiers,  the  servants  and  adherents 
of  royalty.  Instead  of  creating  every  thing  new,  they  turned 
by  degrees  to  the  usages  and  manners  of  the  past.  Always 
and  in  all  countries  have  there  been  seen  at  courts  carica- 
tures and  persons  of  ill-mannered  awkwardness;   at  the 

•  Abrantes,  "M^moi'eA"  voL  iv. 


PRELUDE  TO  THE  EMPIRE.  459 

opening  of  the  court  of  the  first  consul  it  is  probable  that 
these  existed,  and  appeared  still  more  strange  to  those  who 
had  been  used  to  the  manners,  traditions,  and  language  of 
the  ancient  court  of  Versailles.  Their  awkwardness,  how- 
ever, was  soon  overcome ;  and  Josephine  understood  so  well 
the  rare  art  of  presiding  at  a  court  establishment — she  was 
such  an  accomplished  mistress  of  refined  manners  and  of 
noble  deportment — she  united  to  the  perfect  manners  of  the 
old  nobility  the  most  exquisite  adroitness,  and  she  knew  so 
well  how  to  adapt  all  these  advantages  to  every  new  circum- 
stance— that  soon  every  one  bowed  to  her  sovereignty  and 
submitted  to  her  laws. 

From  the  glittering  halls  of  the  Tuileries  there  soon  dis- 
appeared the  sword  and  the  uniform,  to  be  replaced  by  the 
gold-embroidered  dress,  the  silk  stockings,  and  the  cJiapeau 
bras  ;  and  on  the  glassy  floors  of  the  Tuileries  generals  and 
marshals  appeared  as  fine  cavaliers,  who,  submitting  to  the 
rules  of  etiquette,  left  behind  with  their  regiments  the  coarse 
language  of  the  camp.  Many  of  these  young  generals  and 
heroes  had  married  the  beautiful  but  impoverished  daugh- 
ters of  the  aristocrats  of  old  monarchical  France.  These 
young  women,  who  were  the  representatives  of  the  ancient 
noblesse,  brought  to  the  Tuileries  the  traditions  of  their 
mothers,  and  distinguished  themselves  by  the  ease  of  their 
courtly  deportment  and  their  graceful  manners ;  and  they 
thus  unconsciously  became  the  teachers  of  the  other  young 
women,  who,  like  their  husbands,  owed  their  aristocratic 
name  only  to  the  sword  and  to  their  fresh  laurels,  and  not  to 
ancient  escutcheons. 

In  the  Tuileries  and  in  St.  Cloud  there  were  reception- 
days,  audience-days,  and  great  and  small  levees,  at  which 
were  assembled  all  that  France  possessed  of  rank,  name,  and 
fame,  and  where  the  ambassadors  of  all  the  powers  accred- 
ited at  the  court  of  the  consul,  where  all  the  higher  clergy 
and  the  pope's  nuncio,  appeared  in  full  dress. 


460  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Bonaparte  ventured  to  remove  still  further  from  the 
landmarks  of  the  revolution,  and  from  its  so-called  con- 
quests. He  restored  to  France  the  church;  he  reopened 
the  temples  of  religion,  and  he  also  gave  back  to  the  people 
their  priests. 

Just  as  in  the  days  of  old  monarchical  France,  every 
Sunday,  and  at  every  festival,  a  solemn  mass  was  said  at  St. 
Cloud ;  and  in  the  glass  gallery  on  the  way  to  the  chapel, 
Bonaparte  received  petitions  and  granted  short  audiences. 
France,  with  the  instinct  of  its  old  inclinations  and  habits, 
readily  returned  to  this  new  order  of  things ;  and  even  those 
who  once  had  with  enthusiasm  saluted  the  Goddess  of  Rea- 
son, went  now,  with  hands  joined  in  prayer  and  eyes  bent 
low,  to  Notre  Dame,  to  offer  again  their  supplications  to  the 
God  of  Love. 

Every  thing  seemed  to  return  to  the  old  track,  every 
thing  was  as  in  the  days  preceding  the  revolution — the  re- 
establishment  of  the  throne,  the  national,  willing  approba- 
tion that  the  republic  had  become  a  monarchy,  was,  how- 
ever, still  wanting. 

Finally,  on  the  18th  of  May,  1804,  France  spoke  out 
the  decisive  word,  and,  by  the  voice  of  its  representatives 
the  senators,  it  offered  to  Bonaparte  the  crown,  and  re- 
quested him  to  ascend  as  emperor  the  throne  of  France. 

Napoleon  acceded  to  these  wishes,  and,  as  the  senate,  in 
a  ceremonious  procession,  marshalled  by  Cambac6r^8,  came 
to  St.  Cloud  to  communicate  to  Bonaparte  the  wish  of 
France,  and  to  offer  to  him  and  to  Josephine  the  dignities  of 
an  empire,  he  accepted  it  without  surprise,  and  apparently 
without  joy,  and  allowed  himself  to  be  proclaimed  Napo- 
leon, THE  First  Emperor  of  the  French. 

On  this  memorable  day,  after  Cambac6r^s,  in  the  name 
of  the  senate  and  of  France,  had  addressed  the  first  consul 
as  the  actual  emperor,  he  turned  to  Josephine,  who,  with 
that  unparalleled  admixture  of  grandeur,  grace,  and  tender 


PRELUDE  TO  THE  EMPIRE.  461 

womanly  beauty,  which  were  all  so  especially  her  own,  was 
present  at  this  audience  at  Napoleon's  side. 

"  Madame,"  said  Cambac^res,  "  there  remains  yet  to  the 
senate  a  pleasant  duty  to  perform :  to  bring  to  your  imperial 
majesty  the  homage  of  its  respect  and  the  expression  of 
gratitude  of  the  French  people.  Yes,  madame,  the  public 
sentiment  acknowledges  the  good  which  you  are  ever  per- 
forming ;  that  you  are  always  accessible  to  the  unfortunate ; 
that  you  use  your  influence  with  the  chief  magistrate  only 
to  diminish  evil,  and  to  procure  a  hearing  to  those  who  seek 
it;  and  that  your  majesty  with  this  well-doing  combines  the 
most  amiable  tenderness,  rendering  thankfulness  a  pleasant 
duty.  These  noble  qualities  of  your  majesty  foretell  that  the 
name  of  the  Empress  Josephine  will  be  a  watchword  of  trust 
and  hope ;  and,  as  the  virtues  of  Napoleon  will  ever  be  to  his 
followers  an  example  to  teach  them  the  difficult  art  of  govern- 
ment, so  also,  the  lively  remembrance  of  your  goodness  will 
teach  to  their  honorable  wives  that  to  strive  to  dry  the  tear 
is  the  surest  means  of  ruling  the  heart.  The  senate  deems 
itself  happy  in  being  the  first  to  congratulate  your  imperial 
majesty,  and  he  who  has  the  honor  of  addressing  you  these 
sentiments  in  the  name  of  the  senate,  dares  trust  that  you 
will  ever  number  him  among  your  most  faithful  servants." 

It  was,  then,  decided  !  France  had  accepted  her  master, 
and  Cambaceres  in  his  solemn  address  had  already  marked 
out  the  situation  of  France  and  of  her  rulers.  Bonaparte 
and  Josephine  were  now  their  imperial  majesties,  the  sena- 
tors were  their  most  faithful  servants.  What  remained  to 
the  people  but  to  call  themselves  "  faithful  subjects  ?  " 

The  people,  however,  had  made  known  their  wishes  only 
through  the  voice  of  the  senate ;  it  was  the  senators  who 
had  converted  Bonaparte  into  the  Emperor  Napoleon  ;  but 
the  people  were  also  to  make  their  will  known  in  a  solemn 
manner ;  they  were,  through  a  universal  public  suffrage,  to 
decide  whether  the  imperial  dignity  should  be  given  only 


462  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

for  life  to  Napoleon  the  First,  Emperor  of  the  French,  or 
whether  it  should  be  hereditary  in  his  family. 

France,  wearied  with  storms  and  divisions,  decided  with 
her  five  millions  of  votes  for  the  hereditary  imperial  dignity 
in  Bonaparte's  family,  and  thus  the  people  of  France  cre- 
ated their  fourth  dynasty. 

Meanwhile  Josephine  r  ceived  this  new  decision  of  the 
nation,  not  with  that  disquietude  and  care  which  she  had 
formerly  experienced.  Bonaparte  had  given  her  the  deepest 
and  strongest  proof  of  his  love  and  faithfulness.  He  had 
not  only  withstood  the  pressure  of  his  whole  family,  which 
had  conjured  him  before  his  election  to  the  empire  to  be 
divorced  from  his  childless  wife,  but  he  had  in  the  gener- 
osity of  his  love  appointed  his  heirs  and  successors,  and 
these  were  to  be  the  sons  of  Hortense.  The  senate  had  de- 
creed that  the  imperial  dignity  should  be  transmitted  as  a 
heritage  to  Napoleon's  two  brothers  Joseph  and  Louis,  and 
moreover  they  had  given  to  Napoleon  the  right  to  choose 
his  successors  and  heirs  from  the  families  of  the  two 
brothers. 

Napoleon  had  given  to  Josephine  the  strongest  proof  of 
affection — he  had  declared  the  son  of  her  daughter  Hor- 
tense and  of  his  brother  Louis,  the  little  Napoleon  Louis,  to 
be  his  successor  and  heir,  and  the  idea  of  a  divorce  no  longer 
caused  apprehensions  before  which  Josephine  need  tremble. 

Bonaparte  had  appointed  the  sons  of  his  brother  and  of 
Josephine's  daughter  as  his  heirs,  and  the  heir  of  the  new 
imperial  throne  was  already  born.  Hortense's  youth  made 
it  kopeful  that  she  would  add  to  the  new  branch  of  the 
Napoleonic  dynasty  new  leaves  and  new  boughs. 

Josephine  could  now  rejoice  in  her  happiness  and  her 
glory ;  she  could  abandon  herself  to  the  new  splendors  of 
her  life  with  all  the  enjoyment  of  her  sensitive  and  excitable 
nature.  She  could  now  receive  with  smiles  and  with  affable 
condescension  the  homage  of  France,  for  she  was  not  only 


PRELUDE  TO  THE  EMPIRE.  463 

empress  T)y  a  nation's  vote,  but  she  was  also  empress  by  the 
choice  of  Napoleon  her  husband. 

The  brilliancy  of  this  new  and  glorious  horizon  was  soon 
overhung  by  a  sombre  cloud.  The  execution  of  the  Duke 
d'Enghien  threw  its  dark  shadows  from  the  last  days  of  the 
consulate  upon  the  truly  royalist  heart  of  Josephine ;  and 
now  that  heart  was  to  receive  fresh  wounds  through  the 
royalists,  to  whom  she  had  remained  true  with  all  the  mem- 
ories of  youth,  and  in  whose  behalf  she  had  so  often,  so 
zealously,  and  so  warmly  interceded  with  her  husband. 

A  new  conspiracy  against  Napoleon's  life  was  discovered, 
and  this  time  it  was  the  men  of  the  highest  ranks  of  the  old 
aristocracy  who  were  implicated  in  it.  George  Cadoudal, 
the  unwearied  conspirator,  had,  while  in  England,  planned 
with  the  leaders  of  the  monarchical  party  residing  in  France, 
or  who  were  away  from  it,  a  new  conspiracy,  whose  object 
was  to  destroy  Bonaparte  and  to  re-establish  the  monarchy. 

But  Fate  was  again  on  the  side  of  the  hero  of  Areola. 
His  good  star  still  protected  him.  The  conspiracy  was  dis- 
covered, and  all  those  concerned  in  it  were  arrested.  Among 
them  were  the  Generals  Pichegru  and  Moreau,  the  Counts 
de  Polignac,  Riviere,  Saint  Coster,  Charles  d'Hozier,  and 
many  others  of  the  leading  and  most  distinguished  royalists. 
They  were  now  under  the  avenging  sword  of  justice,  and 
the  tribunal  had  condemned  twenty  of  the  accused  to  death, 
among  whom  were  the  above  named.  The  emperor  alone 
had  the  power  to  save  them  and  to  extend  mercy.  But  he 
was  this  time  determined  to  exhibit  a  merciless  severity,  so 
as  to  put  an  end  to  the  royalists,  and  to  prove  to  them  that 
he  was  the  ruler  of  France,  and  that  the  people  without  a 
murmur  had  given  him  the  power  to  punish,  as  guilty  of 
high-treason,  those  who  dared  touch  their  emperor. 

Josephine's  heart,  however,  remained  true  to  her  memo- 
ries and  her  piety ;  and,  according  to  her  judgment,  those 
who,  with  so  much  heroic  loyalty,  remained  true  to  the  ex 


464  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

iled  monarchy,  were  criminals  only  as  they  hao  iT<  perilled 
her  husband's  life,  but  criminals  who,  since  their  plans  were 
destroyed,  deserved  pardoii,  because  they  had  sinned  through 
devotion  to  sacred  principles. 

Josephine,  therefore,  opposed  Bonaparte's  anger,  and 
begged  for  pardon  for  the  son  of  the  former  friend  of 
Queen  Marie  Antoinette,  the  Count  Jules  de  Polignac. 
Bonaparte,  however,  remained  inexorable ;  he  repelled  Jose- 
phine with  vehemence,  reproaching  her  for  asking  for  the 
life  of  those  who  threatened  his.  But  she  would  not  be 
deterred ;  since  Bonaparte  had  turned  her  away  with  her 
petitions  and  prayers,  she  wanted  at  least  to  give  to  the  wife 
of  the  Count  de  Polignac  an  opportunity  to  ask  pardon  for 
her  condemned  husband.  Despite  Bonaparte's  wrath,  Jose- 
phine led  the  Countess  de  Polignac  into  a  corridor  through 
which  the  emperor  had  to  pass,  when  he  went  from  the 
council-room  into  his  cabinet,  and  by  this  means  the  count- 
ess was  fortunate  enough,  by  her  tears  and  prayers,  to  save 
her  husband's  life.  The  Count  de  Polignac  was  pardoned ; 
and  now  that  Bonaparte's  heart  had  once  been  opened  to 
mercy,  he  also  granted  to  Josephine  the  lives  of  Count 
Riviere  and  of  General  Lajolais,  in  behalf  of  whom  Hor- 
tense  had  appealed  to  the  emperor.  More  than  twenty  of 
the  conspirators  were  accused  and  sentenced,  some  to  death 
and  some  to  severe  punishment,  but  one-half  of  the  accused 
were,  thanks  to  the  prayers  of  Josephine  and  of  her  daugh- 
ter, pardoned ;  a  few  were  put  to  death,  and  the  rest  trans- 
ported. Pichegru  committed  suicide  in  prison  ;  Moreau 
received  permission  to  emigrate  to  America;  George  Ca- 
doudal  perished  on  the  scaffold. 

After  this  last  fruitless  attempt  to  re-establish  in  France 
the  throne  of  the  Bourbons,  the  royalists,  wearied  and  terri- 
fied, had  at  least  for  a  time  to  withdraw  into  obscurity  and 
solitude,  and  the  newly-established  empire  appeared  in  still 
more  striking  magnificence.     The  monarchy  by  God's  grace 


PRELUDE  TO  THE  EMPIRE.  465 

had  been  conquered  by  the  empire  by  the  people's  grace, 
and  Napoleon  wanted  now  to  show  himself  to  astonished 
Europe  in  all  the  glory  of  his  new  dignity.  He  therefore 
undertook  a  journey  with  his  wife  through  the  conquered 
German  provinces ;  he  went  to  Aix-la-Chapelle,  to  the  city 
of  coronation  of  the  ancient  German  emperors,  and  which 
now  belonged  to  imperial  France ;  he  went  to  Mayence,  the 
golden  Mayence  of  the  old  Roman  days,  and  which  now, 
after  so  many  streams  of  bloodshed,  had  been  transferred  to 
France. 

This  journey  of  the  emperor  and  empress  was  one  unin- 
terrupted triumphal  procession ;  the  population  of  the  old 
German  city  applauded,  in  dishonorable  faithlessness,  the 
new  foreign  ruler  ;  all  the  clergy  received  their  imperial 
majesties  at  the  door  of  the  cathedral,  where  Germany's  first 
emperor,  Charlemagne,  was  buried ;  and,  to  flatter  the  Em- 
press Josephine,  the  clergy  caused  a  miracle  to  be  performed 
by  her  hand.  There  existed  in  the  sacred  treasury  of  the 
cathedral  a  casket  of  gold,  containing  the  most  precious 
relics,  but  which  was  never  opened  to  the  eyes  of  mortals, 
and  whose  lock  no  key  fitted.  Only  once  a  year  was  this 
precious,  sacred  casket  of  relics  shown  to  the  worshipping 
crowd,  and  then  locked  up  in  the  holy  shrine.  But  for 
Josephine  this  treasury  was  condescendingly  opened,  and  to 
the  empress  was  presented  this  casket  of  relics,  and  behold, 
the  miracle  took  place !  At  the  touch  of  the  empress  the 
lid  of  the  casket  sprang  up,  and  in  it  were  seen  the  most 
precious  jewels  of  royalty,  amongst  which  was  the  seal-ring 
of  Charlemagne.*  No  one  was  more  surprised  at  this  mir- 
acle than  the  clergy ! 

The  neighboring  German  princes  came  to  ancient  May- 
ence to  do  homage  to  Josephine,  and  to  win  the  favor  of 
the  sovereign  of  France  toward  their  little  principalities, 

*  Constant,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  iii 


466  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

and  to  assure  him  of  their  devotedness.  Bonaparte  already 
understood  how  to  receive  the  humble,  flattering  German 
princes  with  the  mien  of  a  gracious  protector,  and  to  look 
upon  them  with  the  eye  of  an  emperor,  to  whom  not  only  the 
nations  but  also  the  princes  must  bow ;  and  Josephine  also 
excited  the  admiration  of  genuine  princes  and  legitimate 
princesses,  by  the  graciousness  and  grandeur,  by  the  unaf- 
fected dignity  and  ease  with  which  she  knew  how  to  repre- 
sent the  sovereign  and  the  empress. 


CHAPTEE  XXXIX. 

THB  POPE  IN  PARIS. 

Fate  had  reserved  another  triumph  for  the  ruler  of 
France,  the  Emperor  Napoleon — the  triumph  that  the  em- 
pire by  the  people's  grace  should  be  converted  and  exalted 
into  the  empire  by '  God's  grace.  Pope  Pius  VII.,  full  of 
thankfulness  that  Napoleon  had  re-established  the  Church 
in  France,  and  restored  to  the  clergy  their  rights,  had  con- 
sented to  come  to  Paris  for  the  sake  of  giving  to  the  empire, 
created  by  the  will  of  the  French  people,  the  benediction  of 
the  Church,  and  in  solemn  coronation  to  place  the  imperial 
crown  on  the  head  anointed  by  the  hands  of  God's  vice- 
gerent. 

Bonaparte  received  this  news  with  the  lofty  composure 
of  an  emperor  who  finds  it  quite  natural  that  the  whole 
world  should  bow  to  his  wishes,  and  Josephine  received  it 
with  the  modesty  and  joyous  humility  of  a  pious  Christian. 
She  desired  above  all  things  the  blessing  of  God  and  of  the 
Church  to  rest  upon  this  crown,  whose  possession  had  seemed 
to  her  until  now  a  spoliation,  a  sacrilege,  and  about  which 
her  conscience  so  often  reproached  her.     But  when  God's 


THE  POPE  IN  PARIS.  467 

Ticegerent,  when  the  Holy  Father  of  Christendom  should 
himself  have  blessed  her  husband's  crown,  and  should  have 
made  fast  on  Josephine's  brow  the  imperial  diadem,  then 
all  blame  was  removed,  then  the  empress  could  hope  that 
Heaven's  blessing  would  accompany  the  new  emperor  and 
his  wife ! 

But  was  it  really  Napoleon's  wish  that  Josephine  should 
take  part  in  this  grand  ceremony  of  coronation  ?  Did  he 
wish  that,  like  him,  she  should  receive  from  the  hands  of 
the  pope  the  consecrated  crown  ? 

Such  was  the  deep,  important  question  which  occupied, 
at  the  approaching  arrival  of  the  pope,  the  young  imperial 
court;  a  question,  too,  which  occupied  Josephine's  mind, 
and  also  the  whole  family,  and  more  especially  the  sisters 
of  Bonaparte. 

Josephine  naturally  desired  that  it  should  be  so,  for  this 
solemn  coronation  would  be  a  new  bond  uniting  her  to  her 
husband,  a  new  guaranty  against  the  evil  which  the  em- 
press's foreboding  spirit  still  dreaded.  But  for  the  very 
same  reasons  her  enemies  prepared  their  weapons  to  prevent 
Josephine  from  obtaining  this  new  consecration  and  this 
new  glory,  and  harsh  and  bitter  conflicts  took  place  within 
the  inner  circles  of  the  imperial  family  on  account  of  it, 
which  on  both  sides  were  carried  on  with  the  deepest  ani- 
mosity and  obstinacy,  but  finally  to  a  complete  triumph  for 
Josephine. 

Thiers,  in  his  "  History  of  the  Consulate  and  of  the  Em- 
pire," relates  the  last  scenes  in  this  family  quarrel : 

"  Napoleon  vacillated  between  his  affection  for  his  wife 
and  the  secret  presentiments  of  his  policy,  when  an  occur- 
rence took  place  which  nearly  caused  the  sudden  ruin  of  the 
unfortunate  Josephine.  Every  one  was  in  a  state  of  agita- 
tion about  the  new  monarch — brothers,  sisters,  and  allies  ! 
In  the  solemnity  which  seemed  to  give  to  each  a  blessing,  all 
desired  to  perform  parts  adequate  to  their  actual  pretensions, 


468  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

and  to  their  hopes  of  the  future.  At  the  sight  of  this  rest- 
lessness, and  witnessing  the  pretensions  and  claims  to  which 
Napoleon  was  exposed  from  one  of  his  sisters,  Josephine, 
carried  away  by  anxiety  and  jealousy,  gave  utterance  to  an 
insulting  suspicion  against  his  sister  and  against  Napoleon, 
a  suspicion  which  agreed  with  the  most  bitter  calumnies  of 
the  royalist  emigrants.  Napoleon  grew  violently  angry,  and, 
as  his  wrath  mastered  his  better  feelings,  he  declared  to 
Josephine  that  he  wanted  to  be  divorced  from  her ;  that  he 
would  have  to  be,  sooner  or  later,  and  that  it  was  therefore 
better  to  announce  it  on  the  spot,  before  other  bonds  should 
unite  them  still  closer  together.  He  sent  for  his  two  adopt- 
ed children,  communicated  to  them  this  decision,  and  thus 
produced  on  them  a  most  painful  impression.  Hortense  and 
Eugene  de  Beauharnais  declared  with  a  sad  but  unwavering 
determination  that  they  would  follow  their  mother  into  the 
exile  which  was  being  prepared  for  her.  Josephine  mani- 
fested a  resigned  and  dignified  sorrow.  The  contrast  of 
their  sorrow  with  the  satisfaction  which  the  other  portion 
of  the  imperial  family  manifested,  deeply  lacerated  Napor 
leon's  heart,  and  he  relented ;  for  he  could  not  consent  to 
see  the  companion  of  his  youth  and  her  children,  who  had 
been  the  objects  of  his  deserved  affection,  made  so  unhappy 
by  being  forced  into  exile.  He  took  Josephine  in  his  arms, 
told  her  with  emotion  that  he  could  never  have  the  strength 
to  part  from  her,  even  if  policy  itself  should  dictate  it ;  and 
he  then  promised  her  that  she  should  be  crowned  with  him, 
and  at  his  side  should  receive  from  the  pope  the  divine 
blessing."  * 

Josephine,  therefore,  had  won  a  victory  over  the  hostile 
sisters,  but  this  defeat  made  them  still  more  embittered,  and 
though  they  were  now  compelled  to  recognize  Josephine  as 
the  imperial  wife  of  their  brother,  yet  they  would  retreat 

♦  Thiers,  "  Histoire  du  Consulat  et  de  rEmpire."  vol.  v.,  p.  249. 


THE  POPE  IN  PARIS.  469 

only  step  by  step,  and  at  least  secure  a  place  near  the  im- 
perial throre,  and  not  be  compelled  by  the  empress  to  stand 
behind.  Yet  this  was  exactly  what  was  to  take  place  ac- 
cording to  the  programme,  which  prescribed  for  the  festiv- 
ity in  Notre  Dame  that  on  the  day  of  coronation  the  broth- 
ers of  the  emperor  should  carry  the  trail  of  his  mantle,  and 
tt\at  his  sisters  should  at  the  same  time  carry  the  trail  of 
the  empress's  mantle.  But  the  sisters  of  Napoleon  decidedly 
opposed  this  aTTangement. 

"  The  emperor,  tired  of  these  constant  wranglings  and 
domestic  Gtrifes,  decided  as  judge,  and  declared  he  would 
'^o  longer  listen  to  these  unheard-of  and  unjustifiable  pre- 
^nsions. 

" '  Truly,'  said  he,  to  the  beautiful  Pauline,  who,  as  Prin- 
cess Borghese,  considered  herself  justified  in  making  oppo- 
sition, '  truly,  one  would  think,  after  listening  to  you,  that 
I  have  despoiled  you  of  the  inheritance  of  the  most  blessed 
king  our  father.'  "  * 

The  ambitious  sisters,  kept  within  bounds  by  the  angry 
Voice  of  their  brother,  who  now  for  the  first  time  showed 
himself  their  ruling  emperor,  had  to  fall  into  their  places, 
and  abide  by  the  regulations  of  the  ceremony. 

Nothing  was  wanted  now  to  perfect  the  sacred  celebra- 
tion which  was  to  crown  all  the  triumphs  and  victories  of 
Napoleon,  nothing  but  the  arrival  of  the  pope :  the  whole 
imperial  family,  as  well  as  France,  awaited  his  advent  with 
impatience. 

At  last  the  couriers  brought  the  news  that  the  pope  had 
touched  the  French  soil,  and  that  the  people  were  stream- 
ing toward  him  to  manifest  their  respect,  and  to  implore  his 
blessing  on  their  knees ;  the  same  people  who  precisely  ten 
years  before  had  closed  the  churches,  driven  the  priests  into 
exile,  and  consecrated  their  bacchanalian  worship  to  the 
Goddess  of  Reason ! 

*  "  Histoire  du  Consulat,"  vol.  v.,  p.  351. 


470  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

At  last,  on  the  25th  day  of  November,  the  pope  entered 
Fontainebleau,  where  the  emperor  and  the  empress  had  has- 
tened to  receive  him.  No  sooner  was  the  pope's  approach 
announced,  than  Napoleon  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  to 
meet  him  some  distance  on  the  way.  In  the  centre  of  the 
road  took  place  the  first  interview  between  the  representa- 
tive of  Christendom  and  the  youngest  son  of  the  Church,  a 
son  who  now  sat  on  the  throne  of  those  who  in  former  times 
had  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  being  called  the  elder  sons  of 
the  Church. 

The  pope  alighted  from  his  carriage  as  soon  as  the  em- 
peror was  in  sight ;  Napoleon  dismounted  and  hastened  to 
meet  and  embrace  tenderly  his  holiness,  and  then  to  ascend 
with  him  the  carriage,  the  question  of  precedence  remaining 
undecided,  as  the  pope  and  the  emperor  entered  the  carriage 
at  the  same  time  from  opposite  sides. 

Josephine,  surrounded  by  the  ofl&cial  dignitaries,  the 
ministers  of  state,  and  all  the  generals,  received  the  pope 
under  the  peristyle  of  the  palace  of  Fontainebleau;  and 
then,  after  Napoleon  had  led  him  into  his  room,  Josephine, 
accompanied  by  her  ladies,  went  to  welcome  Pius,  not  as 
empress,  but  as  an  humble,  devout  daughter  of  the  Church, 
who  wished  to  implore  a  blessing  from  the  Holy  Father  of 
Christendom.  Josephine  was  deeply  moved ;  her  whole  be- 
ing was  agitated  and  exalted  at  once  by  this  greatest  of  all 
the  privileges  which  destiny  had  reserved  for  her,  and  by 
this  consecration  which  she  was  to  receive  at  the  hands  of 
the  vicar  of  Christ. 

As  the  pope,  agreeably  affected  by  this  respect  and  emo- 
tion of  the  empress,  offered  her  his  hand  with  a  genial  smile, 
Josephine,  humble  as  a  little  girl,  sank  down  on  her  knees 
before  him,  kissed  his  hand,  and  with  streaming  eyes  im- 
plored his  benediction.  Pius,  in  his  soft,  winning  manner, 
promised  to  love  her  as  a  daughter,  and  that  she  should 
ever  find  in  him  a  father. 


THE  POPE  IN  PARIS.  471 

The  empress,  deeply  moved  by  this  affectionate  conde- 
Bcension  of  the  pope,  and  impressed  by  the  importance  and 
solemnity  of  the  moment,  bade  her  ladies  withdraw,  whilst 
she,  in  solitude  and  silence,  as  a  confessing  child  before  the 
priest,  should  unveil  her  innermost  heart  to  the  Holy  Fa- 
ther. She  then  sank  down  upon  her  knees,  and,  stammer- 
ing, ashamed,  with  her  voice  broken  by  her  sobs,  acknowl- 
edged to  the  pope  that  her  marriage  to  Napoleon  had  never 
received  the  consecration  of  the  Church ;  that,  contracted 
amid  the  stormy  days  of  the  revolution,  it  still  lacked  the 
blessing  hand  of  the  priest,  and  that  her  own  husband  was 
to  be  blamed  for  this  neglect.  In  vain  had  she  often  be- 
sought him  that,  since  he  had  restored  the  Church  to 
France,  he  should  himself  give  to  the  world  a  striking  ex- 
ample of  his  own  return  by  having  his  marriage  blessed  by 
it.  But  Napoleon  refused,  although  he  had  been  the  cause 
of  Cardinal  Caprera  giving  to  the  marriage  of  his  sister 
Caroline  Murat,  long  after  it  had  been  contracted,  the  bless- 
ing of  the  Church. 

Pius  heard  this  confession  of  his  imperial  penitent  with 
holy  resentment,  and  he  promised  her  his  aid  and  protec- 
tion, assuring  her  he  would  refuse  the  act  of  coronation  if 
the  ecclesiastical  marriage  did  not  precede  it. 

No  sooner  had  Josephine  left  him,  than  the  pope  asked 
for  an  interview  with  the  emperor,  to  whom  he  declared, 
with  all  the  zeal  of  a  true  servant  of  the  Church,  and  the 
conviction  of  a  devout.  God-fearing  man,  that  he  was  willing 
to  crown  him,  and  to  grant  him  the  blessing  of  the  Church, 
for  the  state  of  the  conscience  of  emperors  had  never  been 
examined  before  their  anointment ;  but  if  his  wife  was  to 
be  crowned  with  him,  he  must  refuse  his  co-operation,  be- 
cause in  crowning  Josephine  he  dare  not  grant  the  divine 
sanction  to  concubinage. 

Napoleon,  though  inwardly  much  irritated  at  Josephine, 
who,  as  he  at  once  supposed,  had  made  this  confession  to 
31 


472  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

the  pope  in  her  own  interest,  was  still  willing  to  abide  by  the 
circumstances.  He  did  not  wish  to  irritate  the  pope,  who 
as  was  well  known  was  unyielding  in  all  matters  pertaining 
to  faith ;  moreover,  he  could  not  change  any  thing  in  the 
already  published  ceremonial  of  the  day,  and  thus  he  con- 
sented to  have  the  ecclesiastical  marriage.  After  this  con- 
versation with  the  pope,  Napoleon  went  at  once  to  Jose- 
phine, and  the  whole  strength  of  his  anger  was  spent  in 
violent  reproaches  against  her  untimely  indiscretion. 

Josephine  endured  these  silently,  and  full  of  inward 
satisfaction ;  she  did  not  listen  to  Napoleon's  angry  words ; 
she  only  heard  that  he  was  decided  to  have  his  marriage 
sanctioned  by  the  Church,  and  now  she  would  be  his  wife 
before  God,  as  she  had  been  before  men  for  the  last  ten 
years.  Now  at  last  her  fate  was  decided,  and  her  marriage 
made  irrevocable ;  now  she  would  no  longer  dread  that  Na- 
poleon would  punish  her  childlessness  by  a  divorce. 

During  the  night  which  preceded  the  day  of  the  coro- 
nation, the  night  of  the  1st  of  December,  the  ecclesiastical 
marriage  of  Napoleon  and  Josephine  took  place  in  the 
chapel  of  the  Tuileries.  The  only  witnesses  were  Talley- 
rand and  Berthier,  from  both  of  whom  the  emperor  had 
exacted  an  oath  of  profound  silence.  Cardinal  Fesch,  the 
emperor's  uncle,  performed  the  ceremony,  and  pronounced 
the  benediction  of  the  Church  over  this  marriage,  which 
Bonaparte's  love  for  Josephine  had  induced  him  to  consent 
to,  and  which  her  love  endeavored  to  make  indissoluble. 

This  marriage,  which  she  desired  both  as  a  loving 
woman  and  as  a  devout  Christian,  was  the  most  glorious 
triumph  which  Josephine  had  ever  obtained  over  the  en- 
mity of  her  husband's  sisters,  for  it  was  a  new  proof  of  the 
love  and  faithfulness  of  this  man,  whom  neither  expediency, 
nor  family,  nor  state  reasons,  could  remove  from  her,  and 
who,  with  the  hand  of  love,  had  guided  her  away  from  all 
the  dangers  which  had  surrounded  her. 


THE  CORONATION.  473 

CHAPTER  XL. 

THE    CORONATION. 

At  last,  on  the  2d  of  December,  came  the  day  which 
Napoleon  had  during  many  years  past  longed  for  within 
the  recesses  of  his  heart ;  the  day  which  his  ambition  had 
hoped  for,  the  day  of  his  solemn  coronation.  And  now  the 
victorious  soldier  was  to  see  all  his  laurels  woven  into  an 
imperial  crown — that  which  Julius  Caesar  had  tried  to  win, 
and  for  which  the  republic  punished  him  with  death. 

But  now  the  republicans  were  silent :  before  this  new 
Julius  Caesar  they  dare  not  lift  up  their  swords,  for  the 
power  belonged  to  him,  and  that  he  knew  how  to  punish 
had  been  seen  by  trembling  France  not  long  ago  at  the 
execution  of  George  Cadoudal  and  his  associates,  the  people 
sanctioning  those  executions. 

There  was  no  Brutus  there  to  plunge  the  dagger  into 
the  breast  of  the  new  Cassar.  His  was  the  victory,  the 
throne,  the  crown ;  and  all  France  was  in  joyous  excite- 
ment at  this  new  triumph,  that  the  pope  himself  should 
come  from  Rome  to  Paris  so  as  to  place  the  crown  on  the 
head  of  an  emperor  by  the  grace  of  the  people,  and  to  make 
of  the  elect  of  the  people  an  elect  of  God. 

The  day  had  scarcely  begun  to  dawn  when  all  the  streets 
of  Paris  through  which  the  imperial  as  well  as  the  papal 
procession  had  to  move  toward  Notre  Dame  were  filled  with 
wave-like  masses  of  human  beings,  who  soon  occupied  not 
only  the  streets  but  all  the  windows  and  all  the  roofs  of  the 
houses.  Those  who  were  fortunate  enough  to  be  provided 
with  cards  of  admission  into  Notre  Dame,  went  at  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning  to  the  cathedral,  for  whose  adorning 
during  the  last  fourteen  days  more  than  a  thousand  work- 
men had  been  busy,  and  who  had  not  yet  quite  finished 
their  work,  retiring  only  when  the  approach  of  the  pope 


474  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

and  of  his  suite  was  announced.  In  the  interior  of  the 
Tuileries  began  from  the  commencement  of  the  day,  on 
three  different  sides,  a  lively  movement. 

Here,  in  the  apartments  which  the  pope  occupied, 
gathered  together  the  cardinals,  the  clergy,  and  all  the 
church  dignitaries  who  in  the  pope's  suite  were  to  proceed 
to  Notre  Dame. 

There,  in  the  apartments  of  the  emperor,  a  host  of 
courtiers  and  officers  waited  from  early  dawn  for  the  mo- 
ment when  the  toilet  of  the  emperor  should  be  completed, 
and  he  should  go  to  the  great  throne-room,  where  the  em- 
press and  the  imperial  family  would  await  him. 

The  greatest  excitement,  however,  naturally  prevailed  in 
the  apartments  of  the  empress,  whose  toilet  occupied  a  host 
of  chambermaids  and  ladies  of  the  court,  and  which  had 
already  been  for  months  the  subject  of  thought,  labor,  and 
art,  for  painter  and  embroiderer,  and  for  all  manner  of  pro- 
fessions, as  well  as  for  the  master  of  ceremonies.  For  this 
imperial  toilet-ceremonial  was  to  be  in  accordance  with  the 
traditions  of  ancient  France,  but  was  not,  at  the  same  time, 
to  be  a  mere  imitation  of  the  coronation-toilet  of  the  Bour- 
bons, whom  the  revolution  had  dethroned,  the  same  revo- 
lution which  had  opened  for  Napoleon  the  way  to  the 
throne. 

For  this  important  ceremony,  therefore,  special  costumes, 
somewhat  resembling  those  of  former  centuries,  had  been 
found.  The  painter  Ingres  had  furnished  the  designs  for 
these  costumes,  and  also  plans  for  the  procession  and  for 
the  groupings  in  Notre  Dame ;  he  had  prepared  all  this 
in  pictures  of  great  effect  for  the  emperor's  inspection. 
But  in  order  to  show  to  advantage  the  several  costumes,  as 
well  as  the  train  of  personages,  and  the  subdivisions  of  the 
different  groups  of  the  imperial  dignitaries,  Ingres  had 
caused  small  puppets  to  be  dressed  in  similar  costumes,  ana 
arrayed  in  the  order  of  the  procession  according  to  the  pre- 


THE  CORONATION.  475 

scribed  ceremonies  for  that  day ;  and  for  weeks  the  imperial 
court  had  been  studying  these  costumes,  and  every  one's 
duty  had  been  to  impress  on  his  mind  the  position  assigned 
to  him  for  the  day  of  coronation.* 

The  pope's  toilet  was  the  first  completed ;  and  at  nine 
o'clock,  all  dressed  in  white,  he  entered  a  carriage  drawn  by 
eight  grays ;  over  it  in  gilt  bronze  were  the  tiara  and  the 
attributes  of  papacy.  In  front  of  the  carriage  rode  one  of 
his  chamberlains  upon  a  white  ass,  bearing  a  large  silver 
cross  before  God's  vicegerent.  Behind  it  in  new  carriages 
came  the  cardinals,  the  prelates,  and  the  Italian  officers  of 
the  pope's  palace. 

While  the  papal  train  was  moving  slowly  on  the  quays 
of  the  Seine  toward  the  cathedral,  amid  the  sounds  of  bells, 
and  the  unceasing,  joyful  shouts  of  the  people,  all  was  yet 
in  motion  within  the  apartments  of  the  emperor  and  em- 
press. On  all  sides  hurried  along  the  dignitaries  and  offi- 
cers who  were  to  form  a  part  of  the  imperial  procession. 

For  this  day,  Napoleon  had  been  obliged  to  cast  off  his 
plain  uniform  and  substitute  the  splendid  theatrical  cos- 
tume of  imperial  magnificence.  The  stockings  were  of  silk, 
wrought  with  gold,  embroidered  round  the  edge  with  im- 
perial crowns ;  the  shoes  were  of  white  velvet,  worked  and 
embroidered  with  gold ;  short  breeches  of  white  velvet,  em- 
broidered with  gold  at  the  hips,  and  with  buttons  and  buck- 
les of  diamonds  in  the  shape  of  garters ;  the  vest  also  was 
of  white  velvet,  embroidered  with  gold  and  having  diamond 
buttons ;  the  coat  was  of  crimson  velvet,  with  facings  of 
white  velvet  along  all  the  seams  above  and  around,  and 
sparkling  with  gold  ;  the  half-mantle  was  also  crimson,  lined 
with  white  satin,  and  hanging  over  the  left  shoulder,  while 
on  the  right  shoujder  and  upon  the  breast  it  was  fastened 
with  a  pair  of  diamond  clasps.    Sleeves  of  the  most  costly 

*  Constant,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  iii.,  p.  Ill, 


476  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

lace  fell  about  the  arms ;  the  cravat  was  of  Indian  muslin, 
the  collar  likewise  of  lace ;  the  cap,  of  black  velvet,  was 
adorned  with  two  plumes  and  surrounded  by  a  coronet  of 
diamonds,  which  "  the  regent "  used  as  a  clasp.  Such  was 
the  costume  which  the  emperor  wore  in  the  procession  from 
the  Tuileries  to  Notre  Dame.  In  the  vestry  of  the  cathe- 
dral he  put  on  the  ample  state-robes,  that  is  to  say,  the  robe 
and  mantle  of  emperor.* 

The  toilet  of  the  empress  was  no  less  splendid  and  bril- 
liant. It  consisted  of  an  elaborate  robe  with  a  long  train ; 
this  robe  was  of  silver  brocade,  with  gold  bees  scattered  all 
over ;  in  front  it  was  embroidered  into  a  maze  of  gold- 
leaves  ;  at  the  lower  edge  was  a  gold  fringe ;  the  shoulders 
alone  were  bare ;  long  armlets  of  wrought  gold,  and  adorned 
at  the  upper  part  with  diamonds,  enclosed  the  arm  and  cov- 
ered one-half  of  the  hand.  It  required  all  the  art  and 
grace  of  Josephine  to  carry  this  robe,  it  being  without  any 
waist,  and,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  times,  extremely 
narrow,  and  yet  in  wearing  it  to  lose  naught  of  her  elegance 
or  condescending  dignity.  At  the  upper  part  of  the  dress 
rose  a  collar  a  la  Medicis  of  lace  worked  in  with  gold,  and 
which  Josephine  had  been  constrained  to  wear,  so  as  at 
least,  through  some  historic  details,  to  make  her  toilet  cor- 
respond to  the  costume  of  the  renaissance  worn  by  Napo- 
leon. A  gold  girdle,  adorned  with  thirty-nine  diamond  ro- 
settes, fastened  under  the  breast  her  ^tunic-like  dress.  In 
her  fondness  for  the  antique,  Josephine,  instead  of  diamonds 
and  pearls,  had  preferred  for  bracelets,  ear-rings,  and  neck- 
lace, some  choice  stones  of  rare  workmanship.  Her  beau- 
tiful thick  hair  was  encircled  and  held  together  by  a  splen- 
did diadem,  a  masterpiece  of  modern  art.  This  toilet  was 
to  be  completed,  like  that  of  Napoleon,  before  the  solemn 
entrance  into  the  cathedral,  by  putting  on  the  imperial 

*  Constant,  "  M^moires,"  vol.  ii.,  p.  212. 


THE  CORONATION.  477 

muntle,  which  was  fastened  on  the  shoulders  with  gold 
buckles  and  diamond  clasps. 

At  last  the  imperial  toilets  were  completed  ;  all  the  dig- 
nitaries, as  well  as  the  imperial  family,  gathered  together  in 
the  throne-room,  ready  for  the  procession.  Holding  Jose- 
phine by  the  hand,  her  countenance  expressing  deep  emo- 
tion, and  her  eye  obscured  by  the  tears  shed  as  a  price  for 
the  solemn  marriage  of  that  night,  Napoleon  appeared  in 
the  midst  of  his  brilliant  courtiers,  and  received  the  impress- 
ive, heart-felt  wishes  of  his  family,  his  brothers  and  sisters, 
who  pressed  around  him  and  the  empress,  and  who  at  this 
moment,  forgetting  all  envy  and  jealousy,  had  only  words 
of  thankfulness  and  assurances  of  love,  devotedness,  and 
loyalty. 

Napoleon  replied  to  them  all  in  the  short,  comprehen- 
sive words  which  he  addressed  to  his  brother  Joseph,  whilst 
with  his  flaming  eyes  he  examined  his  brothers  and  sisters 
in  the  brilliant  costumes  of  their  dignity  and  glory : 

"  Joseph,"  said  he,  "  could  our  father  see  us  now  ! "  * 

From  the  pomp  and  solemnity  of  this  important  moment 
the  thoughts  of  the  emperor,  for  whom  the  pope  was  wait- 
ing in  Notre  Dame,  wandered  far  away  to  the  gloomy,  quiet 
death-bed  of  his  father,  whose  last  hour  was  embittered  by 
the  tormenting  thought  of  leaving  his  family  unprotected 
and  with  but  little  means. 

The  thundering  roar  of  cannon  and  the  chimes  of  bells 
proclaimed  that  the  emperor  and  empress,  with  their  train, 
were  now  leaving  the  palace  to  ascend  into  the  wonderful 
carriage  made  of  gold  and  glass,  and  which  was  waiting  for 
them  at  the  Pavilion  de  I'Horloge  to  proceed  toward  the 
cathedral. 

This  carriage,  prepared  expressly  for  this  day's  celebra- 
tion, was  of  enormous  size  and  breadth,  with  windows  on 

•  Meneval,  "  Souvenirs,"  vol.  i.,  p.  204. 


478  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

all  sides,  and  entirely  alike  in  its  front  and  back  seats.  It 
therefore  happened  that  their  imperial  majesties,  on  enter- 
ing  the  carriage,  not  thinking  of  the  direction  to  be  taken, 
sat  down  on  the  front  instead  of  the  back  seat. 

The  empress  noticed  the  mistake,  and  when  she  laugh- 
ingly called  the  emperor's  attention  to  it,  they  both  took 
the  back  seat  without  a  suspicion  that  this  little  error  was  a 
bad  omen. 

Another  little  mishap  occurred  before  they  entered 
Notre  Dame,  which  threw  a  gloom  of  sad  forebodings  and 
fear  over  the  heart  of  the  empress. 

Whilst  alighting  out  of  the  carriage,  the  empress,  whose 
hand  was  occupied  in  the  holding  and  carrying  her  robe 
and  mantle,  let  slip  from  her  fingers  the  imperial  ring  which 
the  pope  had  brought  her  for  a  present,  and  which  before 
the  coronation  he  was  to  bless,  according  to  the  accustomed 
ceremonial,  and  then  place  it  on  her  finger  as  a  token  of 
remembrance  of  the  holy  consecration.  This  made  Jose- 
phine tremble,  and  her  cheeks  turned  pale,  especially  as  the 
ring  could  nowhere  be  found.  It  had  rolled  a  considerable 
distance  from  the  carriage,  and  only  after  some  minutes  did 
Eugene  Beauharnais  find  it  and  bring  it  to  his  mother,  to 
her  great  delight  and  satisfaction.* 

At  last  the  procession  entered  Notre  Dame,  and  the  bril- 
liant solemnity  began.  It  is  not  our  purpose  to  describe 
here  again  the  ceremony  which  has  been  in  all  its  details 
portrayed  in  so  many  works,  and  to  repeat  the  solemn  ad- 
dresses and  the  different  events  of  this  great  and  memorable 
day.  It  is  with  Josephine  we  have  to  do,  and  with  what 
concerns  her  individual  destiny — that  alone  claims  our  at- 
tentive consideration. 

One  event,  however,  is  to  be  mentioned.  At  the  mo- 
ment the  emperor  took  from  the  altar  the  so-called  crown 

•  Aubenas,  "  Histoire  de  I'lmpfiratrice  Josephine,"  vol.  ii.,  p.  283. 


THE  CORONATION.  479 

of  Charles  the  Great,  and  with  firm  hand  placed  it  on  his 
head — at  the  moment  when  he  assumed  the  place  of  the 
ancient  Kings  of  France,  a  small  stone,  which  had  detached 
itself  from  the  cupola,  fell  down,  touched  his  head,  leaped 
on  his  shoulder,  slipped  down  his  imperial  mantle,  and  rolled 
over  the  altar-steps  near  to  the  pope's  throne,  where  it  re- 
mained still  until  an  Italian  priest  picked  it  up.* 

At  the  moment  of  his  loftiest  grandeur  the  destiny  of 
his  future  aimed  its  first  stone  at  him,  and  marked  him  as 
the  one  upon  whom  its  anger  was  to  fall. 

This  was  the  third  evil  omen  of  the  day;  but  fortu- 
nately Josephine  had  not  noticed  it.  Her  whole  soul  was 
absorbed  in  the  sacred  rites;  and,  after  the  emperor  had 
crowned  himself,  her  heart  trembled  with  deep  emotion  and 
agitation,  for  now  the  moment  had  come  when  she  was  to 
take  her  part  in  the  solemnity. 

The  Duchess  d'Abrantes,  who  was  quite  near  Josephine, 
and  an  immediate  witness  of  the  whole  celebration,  depicts 
the  next  scene  in  the  following  words :  "  The  moment  when 
the  greatest  number  of  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  altar-steps 
where  the  emperor  stood,  was  when  Josephine  was  crowned 
by  him,  and  was  solemnly  consecrated  Empress  of  the 
French.  What  a  moment !  .  .  .  what  a  homage  !  What  a 
proof  of  love  manifested  to  her  from  him  who  so  much 
loved  her ! 

"  David's  painting,  and  many  other  pictures  taken  dur- 
ing the  coronation,  at  the  very  spot  and  time,  have  well 
represented  the  empress  at  the  feet  of  Napoleon,  who  crowns 
her ;  then  the  pope,  the  priests,  and  even  persons  who  were 
four  hundred  miles  away — as,  for  instance,  the  emperor's 
mother,  who  was  then  in  Rome,  but  whom  David  neverthe- 
less brings  into  his  picture.  But  nothing,  however,  can 
give  us  a  true  description,  or  even  an  approximate  idea,  of 

*  Abrantes,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  vii.,  p.  258. 


480  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

this  alike  touching  and  lofty  scene,  where  a  great  man  hj 
his  own  efforts  ascends  a  throne,  for  on  this  occasion  he 
was  full  of  gratitude  and  emotion. 

"  When  the  moment  had  come  for  Josephine  to  take  her 
part  in  the  great  drama,  the  empress  rose  from  the  throne 
and  approached  the  altar,  where  the  emperor  was  waiting 
for  her ;  she  was  followed  by  the  ladies  of  the  palace  and 
by  her  whole  court,  while  the  Princesses  Caroline,  Julie  (the 
wife  of  Joseph),  the  Princess  Elise,  and  Louis  Bonaparte, 
carried  the  trail  of  her  robe.  One  of  the  most  admirable 
features  in  the  beauty  of  the  Empress  Josephine  was  not 
her  fine,  graceful  figure,  but  the  bearing  of  her  head — the 
gracious  and  noble  manner  in  which  she  moved  and  walked. 
I  have  had  the  honor  to  be  introduced  to  many  *  real  prin- 
cesses,' as  they  are  termed,  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain^ 
and  I  can  in  all  sincerity  say  that  I  have  never  seen  one 
who  appeared  to  me  so  imposing  as  the  Empress  Josephine. 
In  her,  grace  and  majesty  were  blended.  When  she  put  on 
the  grand  imperial  robes  there  was  no  woman  whose  appear- 
ance could  be  more  royal  in  demeanor,  and,  in  reality,  none 
who  understood  the  art  of  occupying  a  throne  as  well  as  she, 
though  she  never  had  been  instructed  in  it. 

"  I  read  all  that  I  have  now  said  in  the  eyes  of  Napo- 
leon. He  watched  with  delight  the  empress  as  she  moved 
toward  him ;  and  as  she  knelt  before  him,  ...  as  the  tears 
she  could  not  restrain  streamed  down  her  folded  hands, 
which  were  lifted  up  to  him  more  than  to  God,  at  that  mo- 
ment, when  Napoleon,  or,  much  more,  when  Bonaparte  was 
for  her  the  real  and  visible  Providence,  there  passed  over 
these  two  beings  one  of  those  fugitive  minutes,  unique  in 
its  kind,  and  never  to  be  recalled  in  a  whole  life,  and  which 
fills  to  overflowing  the  void  of  many  long  years.  The  em- 
peror performed  with  an  unexcelled  grace  the  most  minute 
details  of  every  part  of  the  subsequent  ceremony,  especially 
when  the  moment  came  to  crown  the  empress. 


THE  CORONATION.  481 

"  This  ceremony  was  to  be  performed  by  the  emperor 
himself,  who,  after  he  had  received  the  small  closed  crown 
surmounted  by  a  cross,  placed  it  first  on  his  own  head,  and 
then  afterward  on  the  head  of  the  empress.  He  performed 
these  two  movements  with  a  most  exquisite  slowness,  which 
was  indeed  admirable.  But  at  the  moment  when  he  was  to 
crown  her  who  was  for  him,  according  to  a  prophecy, '  the 
star  of  happiness,'  he  made  himself,  if  I  dare  use  the  ex- 
pression, coquettish.  He  arranged  this  little  crown  which 
was  to  stand  over  her  coronet  of  diamonds,  and  placed  it  on 
her  head,  then  lifted  it  up  to  replace  it  in  another  way,  as  if 
to  promise  her  that  this  crown  would  be  light  and  pleasant 
to  her."* 

After  this  twofold  crowning  performed  by  Napoleon 
himself,  the  pope,  surrounded  by  cardinals  and  prelates, 
approached  the  throne,  and  arriving  upon  the  platform 
pronounced  in  a  loud  voice,  spreading  his  hands  over  their 
imperial  majesties,  the  ancient  Latin  formula  of  enthroni- 
zation :  "  In  hoc  solio  confirme  vos  Deus^  et  in  regno  mterno 
secum  regnare  faciat  Ghristusy  (God  establish  you  on  this 
throne,  and  Christ  make  you  reign  with  Him  in  His  ever- 
lasting kingdom.)  He  then  kissed  the  emperor  on  the 
cheeks,  and  turning  himself  to  the  audience,  cried  with  a 
loud  voice  :  "  Vivat  imperator  in  ceternum  !  " 

The  immense  cathedral  resounded  with  one  glad  shout 
of  thousands  of  voices :  "  Long  live  the  emperor !  long  live 
the  empress ! " 

Napoleon,  calm  and  reserved,  answered  this  acclamation 
with  a  friendly  motion  of  the  head.  Josephine  stood  near 
him,  pale,  deeply  moved,  her  eyes,  full  of  tears,  fixed  on  the 
emperor,  as  if  she  would  pray  to  him,  and  not  to  God,  for 
the  prosperity  and  blessing  of  the  future. 

Meanwhile  the  pope  had  descended  from  his  throne,  and 

•  Abrantes,  "  Memoires." 


'482  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

while  he  approached  the  altar,  the  bands  played  "  Long 
live  the  emperor,"  which  the  Abbe  Rose  had  composed  for 
this  solemnity.  Then  the  pope,  standing  before  the  altar, 
intoned  the  Te  Deum^  which  was  at  once  executed  by  four 
choirs  and  two  orchestras,  and  which  completed  the  eccle- 
siastical part  of  the  ceremony. 

This  was  followed  by  a  secular  one.  The  emperor  took, 
on  the  Bible  which  Cardinal  Fesch  presented  to  him,  the 
oath  prescribed  in  the  constitution,  and  whereby  he  pledged 
himself  solemnly  to  maintain  "  the  most  wise  results  of  the 
^  revolution,  to  defend  the  integrity  of  the  territory,  and  to 
rule  only  in  the  interest  of  the  happiness  and  glory  of  the 
French  people."  After  he  had  taken  this  oath,  a  herald 
approached  the  edge  of  the  platform,  and,  according  to  an- 
cient custom,  cried  out  in  a  loud  voice :  "  The  most  mighty 
and  glorious  Emperor  Napoleon,  Emperor  of  the  French,  is 
crowned  and  enthroned !     Long  live  the  emperor ! " 

A  tremendous,  prolonged  shout  of  joy  followed  this 
proclamation :  "  Long  live  the  emperor !  Long  live  the 
empress!"  and  then  an  artillery  salute  thundered  forth 
from  behind  the  cathedral,  and  a  similar  salute  responded 
from  the  Tuileries,  and  from  the  Invalides,  and  proclaimed 
to  all  Paris  that  France  had  again  found  a  ruler,  that  a  new 
dynasty  had  been  lifted  up  above  the  French  people. 

At  this  moment  from  the  Place  de  Carrousel  ascended 
an  enormous  air  balloon  surmounted  by  an  ornamental,  gi- 
gantic crown,  and  which,  on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  was  to 
announce  to  France  the  same  tidings  proclaimed  to  Paris 
by  bell  and  cannon :  "  The  republic  of  France  is  converted 
into  an  empire !  The  free  republicans  are  now  the  subjects 
of  the  Emperor  Napoleon  I. !  " 

The  gigantic  balloon  arose  amid  the  joyous  shouts  of 
the  crowd,  and  soon  disappeared  from  the  gaze  of  the  spec- 
tators. It  flew,  as  a  trophy  of  victory  of  Napoleon  I,,  all 
over  France.     Thousands  saw  it  and  understood  its  silent 


DAYS  OF  HAPPINESS.  483 

and  yet  eloquent  meaning,  but  no  one  could  tell  where  it 
had  fallen.  Finally,  after  many  weeks,  the  emperor,  who 
had  often  asked  after  the  balloon's  fate,  received  the  wished- 
f or  answer.     The  balloon  had  fallen  in  Rome,  upon  Nero's 


grave ! 

Napoleon  remained  silent  a  moment  at  this  news :  a 
shadow  passed  over  his  countenance ;  then  his  brow  bright- 
ened again,  and  he  exclaimed  :  "  Well,  I  would  sooner  see 
it  there,  than  in  the  dust  of  the  streets  ! " 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

DATS  OF   HAPPINESS. 

The  prophecy  of  the  old  woman  in  Martinique  had  now 
been  fulfilled :  Josephine  was  more  than  a  queen,  she  was 
an  empress !  She  stood  on  life's  summit,  and  a  world  lay 
at  her  feet.  Before  the  husband  who  stood  at  her  side, 
the  princes  and  the  people  of  Europe  bowed  in  the  dust, 
and  paid  him  homage — the  hero  who  by  new  victories  had 
won  ever-increasing  fame  and  fresh  laurels,  who  had  de- 
feated Austria,  Prussia,  and  Russia,  and  who  had  engraven 
on  the  rolls  of  French  glory  the  mighty  victories  of  Auster- 
litz,  Jena,  and  Eylau  ! 

Josephine  stood  on  the  pinnacle  of  life ;  she  saw  the 
princes  of  foreign  states  come  to  France  as  conquered,  as 
captives,  and  as  allies,  to  bring  to  her  husband  and  to  her- 
self the  homage  of  subjects ;  she  saw  devoted  courtiers  and 
flatterers;  pomp  and  splendor  surrounded  her  on  every 
side. 

Amid  this  glory  she  remained  simple  and  modest — she 
never  gave  up  her  cheerful  gentleness  and  mildness;  she 
never  forgot  the  days  which  had  been ;  she  never  allowed 


484  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

herself  to  be  exalted  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  moment  to  an 
ambitious  pride  or  to  a  lofty  self-conceit.  The  friends  of 
the  widow  Josephine  de  Beauharnais  always  found  in  the 
empress  Josephine  a  thankful,  obliging  friend,  ever  ready 
to  appeal  to  her  husband,  and  intercede  with  him  in  their 
behalf.  To  the  royalists,  when  weary  of  their  long  exile, 
though  poor  and  helpless  still  loyal  to  the  royal  family — when 
they  returned  to  France  with  bleeding  feet  and  wounded 
hearts,  to  implore  from  the  Emperor  of  the  French  the  privi- 
lege of  dying  in  their  native  country — to  them  all  Jose- 
phine was  a  counsellor,  a  helper,  a  compassionate  protectress. 
With  deep  interest  she  inquired  from  them  how  it  fared 
with  the  Count  de  Lille,  whom  her  heart  yet  named  as  the 
King  of  France,  though  her  lips  dared  not  utter  it.  All 
the  assistance  she  gave  to  the  royalists,  and  the  protection 
she  afforded  them,  oftentimes  despite  Napoleon's  anger,  all 
the  loyalty,  the  generosity,  and  self-denial  she  manifested, 
were  the  quiet  sacrifice  which  she  offered  to  God  for  her 
own  happiness,  and  with  which  she  sought  to  propitiate  the 
revengeful  spirit  of  the  old  monarchy,  loitering  perchance  in 
the  Tuileries,  where  she  now,  in  the  place  of  the  wife  of  the 
Count  de  Lille,  was  enthroned  as  sovereign. 

Josephine's  heart  was  unwearied  and  inexhaustible  in 
well-doing  and  in  liberality  ;  if  Napoleon  was  truly  the  em- 
peror and  the  father  of  the  army  and  of  the  soldiers,  Jose- 
phine was  equally  the  empress  and  the  mother  of  the  poor 
and  unfortunate. 

But  she  was  also,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  the  em- 
press of  the  happy.  No  one  understood  so  well  as  she  did 
how  to  be  the  leader  at  festivals,  to  preside  at  a  joyous  com- 
pany, to  give  new  attractions  by  her  gracious  womanly 
sweetness  and  amiableness,  or  to  receive  homage  with  such 
beaming  eyes,  and  to  make  others  happy  while  she  herself 
seemed  to  be  made  happy  by  them. 

Amid  this  life  full  of  splendor  and  grandeur  there  were 


DAYS  OP  HAPPINESS.  485 

sad  hours,  when  the  sun  was  shadowed  by  clouds,  and  the 
eyes  of  the  Empress  of  the  French  filled  with  such  bitter 
tears  as  only  the  wife  and  the  widow  of  General  Beauharnais 
could  shed. 

Three  things  especially  contributed  to  draw  these  tears 
from  the  eyes  of  the  Empress  Josephine  :  her  jealousy,  her 
extravagance,  and,  lastly,  her  childlessness. 

Josephine  was  jealous,  for  she  not  only  loved  Napoleon, 
she  worshipped  him  as  her  providence,  her  future,  her  happi- 
ness. Her  heart  was  yet  so  full  of  passion,  and  so  young, 
that  it  hoped  for  much  happiness,  and  could  not  submit  to 
that  resignation  which  is  satisfied  to  give  more  love  than  it 
receives,  and  instead  of  the  warm,  intoxicating  cup  of  love, 
to  receive  the  cool,  sober  beverage  of  friendship.  Josephine 
wanted  not  merely  to  be  the  friend,  but  to  remain  Napo- 
leon's beloved  one ;  and  she  looked  upon  all  these  beautiful 
women  who  adorned  the  imperial  court  of  the  Tuileries  as 
enemies  who  came  to  dispute  with  her  the  love  of  her  hus- 
band. 

And,  alas  !  she  had  too  often  to  acknowledge  herself  de- 
feated in  this  struggle,  to  see  her  rivals  triumph,  and  for 
weeks  to  retreat  into  the  background  before  the  victorious 
one  who  may  have  succeeded  in  enchaining  the  inconstant 
heart  of  Napoleon,  and  to  make  the  proud  Caesar  bow  to  her 
love.  But  afterward,  when  love's  short  dream  had  van- 
ished. Napoleon,  penitent,  would  come  back  with  renewed 
love  to  his  Josephine,  whom  he  still  called  "  the  star  of  his 
happiness ; "  and  oftentimes,  touched  by  her  tears,  he  sacri- 
ficed to  her  anxiety  and  jealousy  a  love-caprice,  and  became 
more  affectionate,  more  agreeable  even,  than  when  he  had 
forsaken  her ;  for  then,  to  prove  to  her  how  unreserved  was 
his  confidence,  he  often  told  her  of  his  new  love-adventures, 
and  was  even  indiscreet  enough  at  times  to  betray  all  his 
gallantries  to  her. 

The  second  object  of  the  constant  solicitude  and  trials  of 


486  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

the  empress  was  her  extravagance.  She  did  not  understand 
how  to  economize ;  her  indolent  Creole  nature  found  it  im- 
possible to  calculate,  to  bring  numbers  into  columns,  or  to 
question  tedious  figures,  to  see  if  debt  and  purse  agreed — if 
her  generous  *heart  must  be  prevented  from  giving  to  the 
poor — from  rendering  assistance  to  the  helpless,  or  from 
spending  handfuls  for  the  suffering ;  to  see  if  her  taste  for 
the  arts  was  no  longer  to  be  gratified  with  pictures,  paint- 
ings, statues,  cameos,  and  other  objects  of  vertu,  which  filled 
her  with  so  much  joy  and  admiration ;  if  her  elegant  man- 
ners and  fondness  for  finery  and  dress  were  to  be  denied 
all  that  was  costly,  all  that  was  fashionable,  and  which 
seemed  to  have  been  expressly  invented  for  the  adorning  of 
an  empress.  And  when,  in  some  of  those  grave,  melancholy 
hours  of  internal  anxiety,  the  cruel  phantoms  of  the  future 
reckonings  arose  before  her  and  warned  her  to  stop  pur- 
chasing, Josephine  comforted  herself  with  the  idea  that  it 
was  Napoleon  himself  who  had  requested  her  to  be  to  all 
the  ladies  of  his  court  a  pattern  of  elegance,  and  to  be  dis- 
tinguished above  all  by  the  most  brilliant,  the  choicest,  the 
costliest  toilet. 

The  emperor  would  often  come  into  the  cabinet  of  the 
empress,  and  to  the  great  astonishment  of  her  ladies-in-wait- 
ing would  enter  into  the  most  minute  details  of  her  dress, 
and  designate  the  robes  and  ornaments  which  he  desired  her 
to  wear  on  some  special  festivity.  It  even  happened  in 
Aix-la-Chapelle  that  Napoleon,  who  had  come  into  the  toi- 
let-room of  the  empress  and  found  that  she  had  put  on  a 
robe  which  did  not  please  him,  poured  ink  on  the  costly 
dress  of  silver  brocade,  so  as  to  compel  her  to  put  on  an- 
other.* 

And  then  how  was  it  possible  to  resist  the  temptation  of 
purchasing  all  those  beautiful  things  which  were  constantly 

•  Avrillon,  "  M^moires,"  vol.  i.,  p.  98 ;  and  Constant,  *'  M^moires," 
vol.  iii.,  p.  103. 


DAYS  OP  HAPPINESS.  487 

brought  to  her  for  inspection  ?  Josephine  loved  what  was 
beautiful,  tasteful,  and  artistic ;  all  works  of  art  which  she 
admired  must  be  purchased,  whatever  price  was  asked ;  and 
when  the  merchants  came  to  offer  to  the  empress  their  su- 
perb and  splendid  articles  of  luxury,  how  could  she  have 
the  cruel  courage  to  repel  them  ?  How  often  did  she  pur- 
chase objects  of  extraordinary  value  for  which  she  had  no 
need,  simply  to  please  herself  and  the  merchant !  Every  thing 
that  was  beautiful  and  tasteful  pleased  her,  and  she  must 
possess  it.  No  one  had  a  more  remarkably  fine  taste  than 
Josephine,  but  the  artists,  the  manufacturers,  the  merchants, 
also  had  fine  taste,  and  they  came  to  the  empress  with  the 
best  they  had ;  it  was  therefore  natural  that  she  should  pur- 
chase from  them.  But  unfortunately  the  happy  moment  of 
the  purchase  was  followed  by  the  unhappy  one  of  the  payment, 
and  the  outlay  was  constantly  beyond  the  income  of  the  em- 
press, whose  treasury,  besides,  was  so  often  emptied  in  char- 
ities, pensions,  and  presents.  Then  when  the  merchants 
urged  payment,  and  the  purse  was  empty,  Josephine  had  re- 
course to  the  emperor,  and  had  to  entreat  him  to  meet  her 
expenses,  and  then  came  violent  scenes,  reproaches,  and  bit- 
ter words.  The  emperor  was  angry,  Josephine  wept,  and 
payment  and  reconciliation  followed  these  scenes.  Jose- 
phine promised  to  the  emperor  and  to  herself  to  be  more 
economical  in  the  future,  and  no  longer  to  purchase  what 
she  could  not  pay  for,  but  ever  came  the  temptation,  with 
all  its  inviting  treasures,  and  being  no  saintly  Anthony,  she 
would  fall  a  prey  to  the  temptation. 

The  third  and  thickest  cloud  which  often  darkened  the 
serene  sky  of  her  happiness  after  her  marriage  was,  as  al- 
ready said,  Josephine's  childlessness.  This  was  the  bitter 
drop  which  was  mixed  in  the  golden  cup  of  her  joy — this  was 
the  sting  which,  however  deeply  hid  under  the  roses,  still 
reached  her  heart  and  wounded  it  painfully.  She  had  no 
children  who  could  call  Napoleon  father,  no  offspring  to 


488  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINR 

prolong  the  future  of  the  new  dynasty.  And  therefore  the 
firmer  the  emperor's  power  became,  the  higher  he  stood 
above  all  other  princes,  the  more  distressing  and  the  more 
anxious  were  the  emotions  which  filled  the  heart  of  Jose- 
phine, the  louder  was  the  warning  voice  which  ceased  not 
to  whisper  to  her  heart,  and  which  she  forgot  only  now  and 
then  under  the  glow  of  Napoleon's  assurances  of  love,  or 
amid  the  noise  of  festivities.  This  voice  whispered  :  "  You 
must  give  place  to  another.  Napoleon  will  reject  you,  to 
marry  a  wife  of  princely  birth,  who  will  give  an  heir  to  his 
empire ! " 

How  Josephine  strove  to  silence  these  agonizing  whis- 
perings of  her  heart !  With  what  restlessness  of  sorrow  she 
rushed  into  the  gayeties  and  amusements  of  a  court  life ! 
How  she  sought,  in  charitable  occupations,  in  the  joys  of 
society,  in  every  thing  which  was  congruous  to  the  life  of  a 
woman,  of  an  empress,  to  obtain  the  forgetfulness  of  her 
torments!  With  what  envious  attention  she  listened  to 
the  whispers  of  courtiers,  scrutinized  their  features,  read 
their  looks,  to  find  out  if  they  still  believed  in  the  existence 
of  an  empress  in  the  wife  of  Napoleon  !  With  what  jealous 
solicitude  she  observed  all  the  families  on  European  thrones, 
and  considered  what  princesses  among  them  were  marriage- 
able, and  whether  Napoleon's  relations  with  the  fathers  of 
such  princesses  were  more  intimate  than  those  with  the 
other  princes ! 

And  then  she  ever  sought  to  deafen  this  vigilant,  warn- 
ing voice,  by  comforting  herself  with  the  thought  that  the 
emperor  had  adopted  his  brother's  son,  the  son  of  Hortense, 
and  that  he  had  made  him  his  heir,  and  consequently  the 
throne  and  the  dynasty  were  secure  in  a  successor. 

But  alas !  Fate  would  not  leave  this  last  comfort  to  the 
unfortunate  empress.  In  May  of  the  year  1807,  Prince 
Napoleon,  the  crown  prince  of  Holland,  Napoleon's  adopted 
son  and  successor,  died  of  a  child's  disease,  which  in  a  few 


DAYS  OF  HAPPINESS.  489 

days  tore  him  away  from  the  arms  of  his  despairing 
mother. 

Josephine's  anguish  was  boundless,  and  in  the  first  hours 
of  this  misfortune,  which  with  such  annihilating  force  fell 
upon  her,  the  empress,  as  if  in  a  state  of  hallucination, 
gazed  into  the  future,  and,  with  prophetic  voice,  exclaimed : 
"  Now  I  am  lost !    Now  is  divorce  certain  ! " 

Yes,  she  was  lost !  She  felt  it,  she  knew  it !  Nothing 
the  emperor  did  to  pacify  her  anguish — the  numerous  ex- 
pressions of  his  love,  of  his  sympathy,  of  his  winning  affec- 
tion— nothing  could  any  longer  deceive  Josephine.  The 
voices  which  had  so  long  whispered  in  her  breast  now  cried 
aloud :  "  You  must  give  place  to  another !  Napoleon  will 
reject  you,  so  as  to  have  a  son  ! " 

But  the  emperor  seemed  still  to  try  to  dispel  these  fears, 
and,  to  give  to  his  Josephine  a  new  proof  of  his  love  and  faith- 
fulness, he  chose  Eugene  de  Beauharnais,  the  son  of  Jose- 
phine, for  his  adopted  heir,  and  named  him  Vice-King  of 
Italy,  and  gave  him  in  marriage  the  daughter  of  the  King  of 
Bavaria ;  he  thus  afforded  to  Europe  the  proof  that  he  still 
considered  Josephine  as  his  wife,  and  that  he  desired  to  be 
shown  to  her  all  the  respect  due  to  her  dignity,  for  he 
travelled  to  Munich  in  company  with  her  in  order  to  be 
present  at  the  nuptials. 

This  journey  to  attend  her  son's  marriage  was  the  last 
pleasure  of  Josephine — her  last  days  of  honors  and  happi- 
ness. Once  more  she  saw  herself  surrounded  by  all  the 
splendor  and  the  pomp  of  her  rank ;  once  more  she  was 
publicly  honored  and  admired  as  the  wife  of  the  first  and 
greatest  ruler  of  the  world,  the  wife  of  the  Emperor  Napo- 
leon. 

Perhaps  Josephine,  in  these  hours  of  happiness,  when 
as  empress,  wife,  and  mother,  she  enjoyed  the  purest  and 
most  sacred  pleasure,  forgot  the  sad  forebodings  and  fears 
of  her  soul.     Perhaps  she  now  believed  that,  since  Napoleon 


490  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

had  adopted  her  Eugene  as  his  son,  and  had  given  to  this 
son  a  wife  of  royal  extraction,  Fate  would  be  propitious  to 
her ;  that  the  emperor  would  be  satisjfied  with  the  son 
of  his  choice,  and  that  the  future  scions  of  the  royal  princess 
would  be  the  heirs  of  his  throne. 

But  one  word  of  Napoleon  frightened  her  out  of  this 
ephemeral  security  into  which  happiness  had  lulled  her. 

Josephine  wept  as  she  bade  farewell  to  her  son ;  she  was 
comfortless  when  with  his  young  wife  Eugene  left  for  Italy. 
She  complained  to  Napoleon,  in  justification  of  her  tears, 
that  she  should  seldom  see  her  son,  that  now  he  was  lost  to 
his  mother's  heart. 

The  emperor,  who  at  first  had  endeavored  to  comfort 
her,  felt  at  last  wounded  by  her  sorrow. 

"  You  weep,  Josephine,"  said  he,  hastily,  "  but  you  have 
no  reasonable  motives  to  do  so ;  you  weep  simply  because 
you  are  separated  from  your  son.  If  already  the  absence  of 
your  children  causes  you  so  much  sorrow,  think  then  what 
I  must  endure !  The  tenderness  which  you  feel  for  your 
children  makes  me  cruelly  experience  how  unhappy  it  is  for 
me  to  have  none."  * 

Josephine  trembled,  and  her  tears  ceased  flowing  in  the 
presence  of  the  emperor,  but  only  to  fall  more  abundantly 
as  soon  as  he  had  left  her.  Now  she  wept  no  longer  at  her 
separation  from  her  son ;  her  tears  were  still  more  bitter 
and  painful — she  grieved  over  the  coming  future  ;  she  wept 
because  those  voices  which  happiness  for  a  moment  had 
deafened,  now  spoke  more  loudly — more  fearfully  and  men- 
acingly shouted :  "  Napoleon  will  reject  you !  He  will  choose 
for  himself  a  wife  of  royal  birth,  who  will  give  an  heir  to  his 
throne  and  his  empire." 

•  Avrillon,  "  M^moires  sur  I'lmperatrice  Josephine,"  vol.  L,  p.  203. 


DIVORCE.  491 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

DIVOKCE. 

It  was  at  last  decided  !  The  storm  whicli  had  so  long 
and  so  fearfully  rolled  over  Josephine's  head  was  to  burst, 
and  with  one  single  flash  destroy  her  earthly  happiness,  her 
love,  her  future ! 

The  peace  of  Vienna  had  been  ratified  on  the  13th  of 
October,  1809.  Napoleon  passed  the  three  long  months  of 
peace  negotiations  in  Vienna  and  in  Schonbrunn,  while 
Josephine,  solitary  and  full  of  sad  misgivings,  lived  quietly 
in  the  retreat  of  Malmaison. 

Now  that  peace  was  signed.  Napoleon  returned  to  France 
with  fresh  laurels  and  new  crowns  of  victory.  But  not,  as 
usual  after  so  long  an  absence,  did  he  greet  Josephine  with 
the  tenderness  and  joy  of  a  home-returning  husband.  He 
approached  her  with  clouded  brow;  with  a  proud,  cold 
demeanor ;  with  the  mien  of  a  ruling  master,  before  whom 
all  must  bow,  even  his  wife,  even  his  own  heart. 

At  Fontainebleau,  whither  the  emperor  in  a  few,  short, 
commanding  words — in  a  letter  of  three  lines — had  invited 
the  empress,  did  the  first  interview  of  Josephine  and  Napo- 
leon take  place.  She  hastened  to  meet  her  husband  with 
a  cheerful  face  and  beaming  eyes.  He,  however,  received 
her  coldly,  and  endeavored  to  hide  his  feelings  of  uneasi- 
ness and  shame  under  a  repulsive,  domineering  manner. 

He  returned  to  his  home  victorious ;  the  whole  world 
lay  conquered  at  his  feet ;  he  was  triumphant.  He  had  so 
deeply  humiliated  the  pride  of  Austria  that  she  not  only 
accepted  his  harsh  terms  of  peace,  but,  as  once  men  had 
appeased  the  Minotaur  by  the  sacrifice  of  the  most  amiable 
and  most  beautiful  maiden,  so  Austria  had  asked  in  a  low 
voice  whether  the  daughter  of  the  emperor,  Maria  Louisa, 


492  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

might  not  give  to  the  alliance  of  Austria  and  France  the 
consecration  of  love.  Napoleon  eagerly  entered  into  the 
soheme ;  and  while  Josephine,  as  his  married  wife  before 
God  and  man,  stood  yet  at  his  side,  he  already  had  begun 
negotiations,  the  object  of  which  was  to  make  the  daughter 
of  the  Austrian  emperor  his  wife,  and  before  Napoleon  re- 
turned to  France  those  negotiations  had  been  brought  to  a 
satisfactory  result. 

The  ambitious  Maria  Louisa  was  to  be  the  wife  of  the 
Emperor  of  the  French.  Nothing  more  was  wanted  but 
that  Napoleon  should  reject  his  legitimate  wife,  whom  the 
pope  had  anointed !  He  had  but  to  disenthrone  her  who 
for  fifteen  years,  with  true  and  tender  love,  had  shared  his 
existence.  He  had  only  to  be  divorced  publicly  and  solemn- 
ly, so  as  immediately  to  possess  a  bride,  the  daughter  of  an 
emperor ! 

Napoleon  came  to  Fontainebleau  to  accomplish  this  cruel 
task,  to  break  at  once  his  marriage  with  Josephine  and  her 
heart.  He  knew  what  terrible  sufferings  he  was  preparing 
for  her ;  he  himself  quailed  under  the  anguish  she  was  to 
endure ;  his  heart  was  full  of  sorrow  and  woe,  and  yet  his 
resolution  was  irrevocable.  Policy  had  controlled  his  heart, 
ambition  had  conquered  his  love,  and  the  man  was  deter- 
mined to  sacrifice  his  wife  to  the  emperor. 

Josephine  felt  this  at  the  first  word  he  addressed  her, 
at  the  first  look  he  gave  her,  after  so  long  a  separation,  and 
her  heart  shrank  within  itself  in  bitter  anguish,  while  a 
stream  of  tears  started  from  her  eyes. 

But  Napoleon  asked  not  for  the  cause  of  these  tears; 
he  had  not  the  courage  to  wage  an  open  war  with  this  brave, 
loving  heart,  and  to  subdue  her  love  and  despair  with  the 
two-edged  sword  of  his  state  policy  and  craftiness.  He  did 
not  wish  to  utter  the  word ;  he  wanted  to  make  her  feel 
what  an  abyss  was  now  open  between  them  ;  all  confidential 
and  social  intercourse  was  to  be  avoided,  so  that  the  empress 


DIVORCE.  493 

might  become  conscious  that  love  and  fellowship  of  hearts 
had  ceased  also. 

On  the  evening  after  the  first  interview  the  empress 
found  that  the  door  of  communication  between  her  apart- 
ments and  those  of  the  emperor  had  been  closed.  Napo- 
leon did  not,  as  had  been  his  wont,  bid  her  good-night  with 
a  cordial  and  friendly  kiss,  but,  in  the  presence  of  her 
ladies,  he  dismissed  her  with  a  cold  salutation.  The  next 
day  the  emperor  expressly  avoided  her  society ;  and  when 
at  rare  moments  he  was  with  her,  he  was  so  taciturn,  so 
morose  and  cold,  that  the  empress  had  not  the  courage  to 
ask  for  an  explanation,  or  to  reproach  him,  but,  trembling 
and  afraid,  she  bowed  under  the  iron  pressure  of  his  severe, 
angry  looks. 

To  prevent  their  being  with  each  other  alone,  and  to 
avoid  this  horrible  solitude,  dreaded  alike  by  Napoleon  and 
Josephine,  the  emperor  sent  the  next  day  for  all  the  princes 
and  princesses  of  his  family  to  come  to  Fontainebleau.  His 
sisters,  no  longer  kept  in  control  by  the  domineering  will 
of  the  emperor,  made  Josephine  feel  their  malice  and  en- 
mity ;  they  found  pleasure  in  letting  the  empress  see  their 
own  ascendency,  their  secure  position,  and  in  treating  her 
with  coldness  and  disrespect.  The  emperor,  instead  of 
guarding  Josephine  against  these  humiliations,  had  the  cruel 
courage  to  increase  them ;  for,  without  reserve  or  modesty, 
and  in  the  very  presence  of  Josephine,  he  offered  the  most 
familiar  and  positive  attentions  to  two  ladies  of  his  court — 
ladies  whom  he  honored  with  special  favor.* 

It  was  death-like  agony  which  Josephine  suffered  in 
those  days  of  Fontainebleau;  it  was  a  cruel  martyrdom, 
which  she,  however,  endured  with  all  the  gentleness  of  her 
nature,  with  the  devotedness  and  uncomplaining  anguish  of 
true  and  genuine  love. 

*  Thiers,  "  Histoire  du  Consulat  et  de  I'Empire,"  vol.  xi.,  p.  323. 


494  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

Napoleon  could  not  endure  this.  The  sight  of  this  yet 
beloved  pale  face,  with  its  sweet,  angelic  smile,  lacerated  hia 
heart  and  tortured  him  with  reproaches.  He  wanted  to 
have  festivities  and  amusements,  so  as  not  to  witness  this 
quiet,  devoted  anguish,  so  as  not  to  read  every  day  in  the 
sorrowful,  red  eyes  of  Josephine,  the  story  of  nights  passed 
in  tears. 

The  court  returned  to  Paris,  there  to  celebrate  the  new 
victorious  peace  with  brilliant  feasts.  Napoleon,  so  as  to  be 
delivered  from  the  tearful  companionship  of  Josephine, 
made  the  journey  on  horseback,  and  never  once  rode  near 
her  carriage. 

In  Paris  had  begun  at  once  a  series  of  festivities,  at 
which  German  princes,  the  Kings  of  Saxony,  of  Bavaria, 
and  of  Wurtemberg,  were  present,  to  congratulate  Napoleon 
on  his  victories  in  Germany.  The  Empress  Josephine,  by 
virtue  of  her  rank,  had  to  appear  at  these  receptions ;  she 
had,  although  in  the  deepest  despondency,  to  wear  a  smile 
on  her  lip,  to  appear  as  empress  at  the  side  of  the  man  who 
met  her  with  coldness  and  estrangement,  and  whom  she  yet 
loved  with  the  true  love  of  a  wife!  She  had  to  see  the 
courtiers,  with  the  keen  instinct  of  their  race,  desert  her, 
leaving  around  her  person  an  insulting  void  and  vacancy. 
Her  heart  was  tortured  with  anguish  and  woe,  and  yet  she 
could  not  uproot  her  love  from  it ;  she  did  not  have  the 
courage  to  speak  the  decisive  word,  and  to  desire  the  divorce 
which  she  knew  hung  over  her,  and  which  at  any  moment 
might  agonize  her  heart ! 

Josephine  did  not  possess  the  cowardice  to  commit  sui- 
cide ;  she  was  ready  to  receive  the  fatal  blow,  but  she  could 
not  plunge  the  dagger  into  her  own  heart. 

Napoleon,  unable  to  endure  these  tortures,  longed  to 
bring  them  to  an  end.  He  secretly  made  all  the  necessary 
arrangements,  and  communicated  to  the  first  chancellor, 
Cambacer^s,  his  irrevocable  resolution  to  be  divarced  from 


DIVORCE.  495 

the  empress.  He,  however,  notified  him  that  he  wanted 
this  act  of  separation  to  be  accomplished  in  the  most  re- 
spectful and  honorable  form  for  Josephine,  and  he  there- 
fore, with  Cambaceres,  prepared  and  decided  upon  all  the 
details  of  this  public  divorce. 

It  only  remained  now  to  find  some  one  who  would  an- 
nounce to  Josephine  her  fate,  who  would  communicate  to 
her  the  emperor's  determination.  Napoleon  had  not  the 
courage  to  do  it  himself,  and  he  wanted  to  confide  this  duty 
to  the  Vice-King  Eugene,  whom  for  this  purpose  he  had 
invited  to  Paris. 

But  Eugene  declined  to  become  a  messenger  of  evil 
tidings  to  his  mother ;  and  when  Napoleon  turned  to  Hor- 
tense,  she  refused  to  give  to  her  mother's  heart  the  mortal 
stroke.  The  emperor,  deeply  touched  by  the  sorrow  mani- 
fested by  the  children  of  Josephine,  was  not  able  to  repress 
his  tears.  He  wept  with  them  over  their  blasted  happiness 
— their  betrayed  love.  But  his  tears  could  not  make  him 
swerve  from  his  resolution. 

"  The  nation  has  done  so  much  for  me,"  said  he,  "  that 
I  owe  it  the  sacrifice  of  my  dearest  inclinations.  The  peace 
of  France  demands  that  I  choose  a  new  companion.  Since, 
for  many  months,  the  empress  has  lived  in  the  torments  of 
uncertainty,  and  every  thing  is  now  ready  for  a  new  mar- 
riage, we  must  therefore  come  to  a  final  explanation."  * 

But  as  none  could  be  found  to  carry  this  fatal  news 
to  Josephine,  Napoleon  had  to  take  upon  himself  the  un- 
welcome task. 

Wearied  with  the  tears  of  the  slighted  empress,  with  the 
reproaches  of  his  own  conscience  and  with  his  own  sufferings, 
Napoleon  suddenly  broke  the  sad,  gloomy  silence  which  had 
been  so  long  maintained  between  him  and  his  wife ;  in  an- 
swer to  her  tears  and  reproaches,  he  told  her  that  it  was 

*  Lavalette,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  ii.,  p.  44 


496  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

full  time  now  to  arrive  at  a  final  conclusion ;  that  he  had 
resolved  to  form  new  ties  ;  that  the  interest  of  the  state  de- 
manded from  them  both  an  enormous  sacrifice;  that  he 
reckoned  on  her  courage  and  devotedness  to  consent  to  a 
divorce,  to  which  he  himself  acceded  only  with  the  greatest 
reluctance.* 

But  Josephine  did  not  hear  the  last  words.  At  the 
word  divorce  she  swooned  with  a  death -like  shriek;  and 
Napoleon,  alarmed  at  the  sight  of  her  insensibility,  called 
out  to  the  officers  in  waiting  to  help  him  to  carry  the  em- 
press into  her  rooms  upon  her  bed. 

Such  hours  of  despair,  of  bitter  pain,  of  writhing,  ago- 
nized love  did  Josephine  now  endure  !  How  courageous,  yet 
how  difficult,  the  struggle  against  the  wretchedness  of  a  re- 
jected love !  How  angrily  and  scornfully  she  would  rise  up 
against  her  cruel  fate  !  How  lovingly,  humbly,  gently  she 
would  acquiesce  in  it,  as  to  a  long-expected,  inevitable  fa- 
tality ! 

These  were  long  days  of  pain  and  distress ;  but  Jose- 
phine was  not  alone  in  her  sufferings,  for  the  emperor's 
heart  was  also  touched  with  her  quiet  endurance,  and  her 
deep  agony  at  this  separation. 

At  last  the  empress  came  out  victorious  from  these  con- 
flicts of  heart  and  soul,  and  she  repressed  her  tears  with  the 
firm  will  of  a  noble,  loving  woman  !  She  bade  her  son 
Eugene  announce  to  the  emperor  that  she  assented  to  the 
divorce  on  two  conditions:  first,  that  her  own  offspring 
should  not  be  exiled  or  rejected,  but  that  they  should  still 
remain  Napoleon's  adopted  children,  and  maintain  their  rank 
and  position  at  his  court ;  secondly,  that  she  should  be  al- 
lowed to  remain  in  France,  and,  if  possible,  in  the  vicinity 
of  Paris,  so  that,  as  she  said  with  a  sweet  smile,  she  might 
be  near  the  emperor,  and  still  hope  in  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
him. 

•  Thiers,  "  Histoire  du  Consulat,"  vol.  xi.,  p.  340. 


DIVORCE.  497 

Napoleon's  countenance  manifested  violent  agitation 
when  Eugene  communicated  to  him  his  mother's  condi- 
tions ;  for  a  long  time  he  paced  the  room  to  and  fro,  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  and  unable  to  gather  strength 
enough  to  return  an  answer.  Then,  with  a  trembling  voice, 
he  said  that  he  not  only  granted  all  these  conditions,  but  that 
they  corresponded  entirely  with  the  wishes  of  his  heart,  and 
that  he  would  add  to  them  a  third  condition,  namely,  that 
Josephine  should  still  be  honored  and  treated  by  him  and 
by  the  world  as  empress,  and  that  she  should  still  be  sur- 
rounded with  all  the  honors  belonging  to  that  rank. 

There  was  yet  wanting,  for  the  full  offering  of  the  sacri- 
fice, the  public  and  solemn  act  of  divorcement ;  but  before 
that  could  take  place  it  was  necessary  to  make  the  requisite 
preparations,  to  arrange  the  future  household  of  the  di- 
vorced empress,  and  to  prepare  every  thing  for  Josephine's 
reception  in  Malmaison,  whither  she  desired  to  retire  from 
the  world.  The  mournful  solemnity  was  put  off  until  the 
15th  of  December,  and  until  then  Josephine,  according  to 
the  rules  of  etiquette,  was  to  appear  before  the  world  as  the 
ruling  empress,  the  wife  of  Napoleon.  Twice  it  was  neces- 
sary to  perform  the  painful  duty  of  appearing  publicly  in 
all  the  pomp  of  her  imperial  dignity,  and  to  wear  the  heavy 
burden  of  that  crown  which  already  had  fallen  from  her 
head.  On  the  morning  of  the  3d  of  December  she  had  to 
be  present  at  the  chanting  of  the  Te  Deum  in  Notre  Dame, 
in  thanksgiving  for  the  peace  of  Vienna,  and  to  appear  at 
the  ball  which  the  city  of  Paris  that  same  evening  gave  to 
the  emperor  and  empress. 

This  ball  was  the  last  festivity  which  Josephine  attended 
as  empress,  but  even  then  she  received  not  all  the  honors 
which  were  due  to  her  as  such.  Napoleon  himself  had  given 
orders  that  the  ladies  of  Paris,  gathered  in  the  H6tel  de 
Ville,  with  the  wife  of  the  governor  of  the  capital,  and  the 
Duchess  d'Abrantes  at  their  head,  should   not,  as  usual, 


498  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

meet  the  empress  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  but  that  they 
should  quietly  await  her  approach  in  the  throne-room,  while 
the  marshal  of  ceremonies  would  alone  accompany  her  up 
the  stairs. 

The  Duchess  d'Abrantes,  deeply  affected  by  this  order 
of  the  emperor,  which  at  once  revealed  the  sad  secret  of  the 
approacliing  future,  had  reluctantly  to  submit  to  this  aiv 
rangement,  which  so  cruelly  broke  the  established  etiquette. 
She  has  herself,  in  her  memoirs,  given  full  particulars  of 
this  evening,  and  her  words  are  so  touching  and  so  full  of 
sentiment  that  we  cannot  refuse  to  make  them  known 
here : 

"  We,  therefore,"  says  she,*  "  ascended  the  throne-room, 
and  were  no  sooner  seated,  than  the  drums  began  to  beat, 
and  the  empress  entered.  I  shall  never  forget  that  figure, 
in  the  costume  which  so  marvellously  suited  her  .  .  .  never 
will  this  gentle  face,  now  wrapped  in  mourning  crape, 
fade  away  from  my  memory.  It  was  evident  that  she  was 
not  prepared  for  the  solitude  which  she  had  found  on  the 
grand  staircase ;  and  yet  Junot,  in  spite  of  the  risk  of  being 
blamed  by  the  emperor,  went  to  receive  her,  and  he  had 
even  managed  that  the  empress  should  meet  on  the  stairs  a 
few  ladies  who,  it  is  true,  did  noft  very  well  know  how  they 
came  -and  what  they  had  to  do  there.  The  empress,  how- 
ever, was  not  deceived ;  as  she  entered  the  grand  hall  and 
approached  the  throne  on  which,  in  the  presence  of  the 
public  of  the  capital,  she  was  to  sit  probably  for  the  last 
time  ....  her  feet  trembled  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
....  I  tried  to  catch  her  eyes  ;  I  would  willingly  have  sunk 
at  her  feet  and  told  her  how  much  I  suffered.  .  .  .  She 
understood  me,  and  looked  at  me  with  the  most  agonizing 
gaze  which  perhaps  was  ever  in  her  eyes  since  that  now 
blighted  crown  had  been  placed  on  her  head.     That  look 

*  Abrantes,  "  Meraoires."  vol.  xii.,  p.  28ft. 


DIVORCE,  .  499 

spoke  of  agony — it  revealed  depths  of  sorrow !  .  .  .  .  What 
must  she  have  suffered  on  this  awful  day !  .  .  .  .  She  felt 
wretched,  dying,  and  yet  she  smiled !  Oh,  what  a  torture 
was  that  crown  !  .  .  .  .  Junot  stood  by  her. 

"  '  You  were  not  afraid  of  Jupiter's  wrath,'  said  I  to  him 
afterward. 

" '  No,'  said  he,  with  a  gloomy  look, '  no,  I  fear  him  not, 
when  he  is  wrong.  .  .  .' 

"  The  drums  beat  a  second  time ;  they  announced  the 
emperor's  approach.  ...  A  few  minutes  after  he  came 
in,  walking  rapidly,  and  accompanied  by  the  Queen  of 
Naples  and  the  King  of  Westphalia.  The  heat  was  extraor- 
dinary, though  it  was  cold  out  of  doors.  The  Queen  of 
Naples,  whose  gracious,  charming  smile  seemed  to  demand 
from  the  Parisians  the  salutation,  *  Welcome  to  Paris,'  spoke 
to  every  one,  and  with  the  expression  of  uncommon  good- 
ness. Napoleon,  also,  who  wished  to  appear  friendly,  walked 
up  and  down  the  room,  talking  and  questioning,  followed 
by  Berthier,  who  fairly  skipped  at  his  side,  fulfilling  more 
the  duties  of  a  chamberlain  than  those  of  a  connetaUe.  A 
trifling  circumstance  in  reference  to  Berthier  struck  me. 
The  emperor,  who  for  some  time  had  been  seated  on  his 
arm-chair  near  the  empress,  descended  the  steps  of  the 
throne  to  go  once  more  around  the  hall ;  at  the  moment  he 
rose  I  saw  him  bend  down  toward  the  empress,  probably  to 
tell  her  that  she  was  to  accompany  him.  He  rose  up  first  j 
Berthier,  who  had  stood  behind  him,  rushed  on  to  follow 
his  master ;  the  empress  was  already  standing  up,  when  his 
feet  caught  in  the  train  of  her  mantle,  and  he  nearly  fell 
down,  causing  the  empress  almost  to  fall.  However,  he  dis- 
entangled himself,  and,  without  one  word  of  excuse  to  the 
empress,  he  followed  the  emperor.  Certainly  Berthier  had 
not  the  intention  to  be  wanting  in  respect  to  the  empress ; 
but  he  knew  the  secret — he  knew  the  whole  drama  soon  to 
be  performed,  ....  and  assuredly  he  would  not  have  so 


500  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

acted  one  year  ago  as  he  did  to-day The  empress 

had  remained  standing  with  a  marvellous  dignity ;  she 
smiled  as  if  the  accident  was  the  result  of  mere  awkward- 
ness ....  but  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  her  lips 
trembled.  .  .  ." 

At  last  the  16th  of  December  had  come ;  the  day  on 
which  Josephine  was  to  endure  the  most  cruel  agony  of  her 
life,  the  day  on  which  she  was  solemnly  to  descend  from  the 
throne  and  bid  farewell  to  her  whole  brilliant  past,  and 
commence  a  despised,  lonely,  gloomy  future. 

In  the  large  cabinet  of  ceremonies  were  gathered  on  this 
day,  at  noon,  the  emperor,  the  Empress  Josephine,  the  em- 
peror's mother,  the  King  and  Queen  of  Holland,  the  King 
and  Queen  of  Westphalia,  the  King  and  Queen  of  Naples, 
the  Vice-king  Eugene,  the  Princess  Pauline  Borghese,  the 
high-chancellor  Cambacer^s,  and  the  secretary  of  civil 
affairs,  St.  Jean  d'Angely.  Josephine  was  pale  and  trem- 
bling ;  her  children  were  agitated,  and  hiding  their  tears 
under  an  appearance  of  quietude,  so  as  to  instil  courage  into 
their  mother. 

Napoleon,  standing  upright,  his  hand  in  that  of  the  em- 
press, read  with  tremulous  voice : 

"  My  cousin,  prince  state-chancellor,  I  have  dispatched 
you  an  order  to  summon  you  hither  into  my  cabinet  for 
the  purpose  of  communicating  to  you  the  resolution  which 
I  and  the  empress,  my  much-beloved  wife,  have  taken.  I 
am  rejoiced  that  the  kings,  queens,  and  princesses,  my 
brothers  and  sisters,  my  brothers-in-law  and  sisters-in-law, 
my  daughter-in-law  and  my  son-in-law,  who  also  is  my 
adopted  son,  as  well  as  my  mother,  are  here  present  to  hear 
what  I  have  to  say. 

"  The  policy  of  my  empire,  the  interest  and  wants  of  my 
people,  direct  all  my  actions,  and  now  demand  that  I  should 
leave  cliildren  heirs  of  the  love  I  have  for  my  people,  and 
heirs  of  this  throne  to  which  Providence  has  exalted  me. 


DIVORCE.  501 

However,  for  many  years  past,  I  have  lost  the  hope  of  hav- 
ing children  through  the  marriage  of  my  beloved  wife,  the 
Empress  Josephine ;  and  this  obliges  me  to  sacrifice  the 
sweetest  inclinations  of  my  heart,  so  as  to  consult  only  the 
welfare  of  the  state,  and  for  that  cause  to  desire  the  disso- 
lution of  my  marriage. 

"  Already  advanced  to  my  fortieth  year,  I  still  may  hope 
to  live  long  enough  to  bring  up  in  my  sentiments  and 
thoughts  the  children  whom  it  may  please  Providence  to 
give  me.  God  knows  how  much  this  resolution  has  cost 
my  heart ;  but  there  is  no  sacrifice  too  great  for  my  cour- 
age if  it  can  be  shown  to  me  that  such  a  sacrifice  is  neces- 
sary to  the  welfare  of  France. 

"  It  is  necessary  for  me  to  add  that,  far  from  having 
any  cause  of  complaint,  I  have,  contrariwise,  but  to  praise 
the  devotedness  and  affection  of  my  much-beloved  wife ;  she 
has  embellished  fifteen  years  of  my  life ;  the  remembrance 
of  these  years  will  therefore  ever  remain  engraven  on  my 
heart.  She  has  been  crowned  at  my  hands ;  it  is  my  will 
that  she  retain  the  rank  and  title  of  empress,  and  especially 
that  she  never  doubt  my  sentiments,  and  that  she  ever  hold 
me  as  her  best  and  dearest  friend." 

When  he  came  to  the  words  "  she  has  embellished  fifteen 
years  of  my  life,"  tears  started  to  Napoleon's  eyes,  and,  with 
a  voice  trembling  through  emotion,  he  read  the  concluding 
words. 

It  was  now  Josephine's  turn.  She  began  to  read  the 
paper  which  had  been  prepared  for  her : 

"  With  the  permission  of  our  mighty  and  dear  husband, 
I  must  declare  that,  whereas  I  can  no  longer  cherish  the 
hope  of  having  children  to  meet  the  wants  of  his  policy  and 
the  wants  of  France,  I  am  ready  to  give  the  highest  proof 
of  affection  and  devotedness  which  was  ever  given  upon 
earth.  ..." 

Josephine  could  proceed  no  further;  sobs  choked  her 


502  THB  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

voice.  She  tried  to  continue,  but  her  trembling  lips  could 
no  more  utter  a  word.  She  handed  to  Count  St.  Jean 
d'Angely  the  paper,  who,  with  tremulous  voice,  read  as 
follows : 

"  I  have  obtained  every  thing  from  his  goodness ;  his 
hand  has  crowned  me,  and  on  the  exaltation  of  this  throne 
I  have  received  only  proofs  of  the  sympathy  and  love  of  the 
French  people. 

"  I  believe  it  is  but  manifesting  my  gratitude  for  these 
eentiments  when  I  consent  to  the  dissolution  of  a  marriage 
which  is  an  obstacle  to  the  welfare  of  France,  since  it  deprives 
her  of  the  happiness  of  being  one  day  ruled  by  the  posterity 
of  a  great  man,  whom  Providence  has  so  manifestly  favored, 
as  through  him  to  bring  to  an  end  the  horrors  of  a  terrible 
revolution,  and  to  re-establish  the  altar,  the  throne,  and 
social  order.  The  dissolution  of  my  marriage  will  not,  how- 
ever, alter  the  sentiments  of  my  heart ;  the  emperor  will 
always  find  in  me  his  most  devoted  friend.  I  know  how 
much  this  action,  made  incumbent  upon  him  by  policy  and 
by  the  great  interests  in  view,  has  troubled  his  heart ;  but 
we,  the  one  and  the  other,  are  proud  of  the  sacrifice  which 
we  offer  to  the  welfare  of  our  country." 

When  he  had  finished.  Napoleon,  visibly  affected,  em- 
braced Josephine,  took  her  hand,  and  led  her  back  to  her 
apartments,  where  he  soon  left  her  insensible  in  the  arms  of 
her  children.* 

Napoleon  himself,  sad  and  silent,  returned  to  his  cabi- 
net, where,  in  a  state  of  complete  exhaustion,  he  fell  into 
an  easy-chair. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day  he  again  visited  Jose- 
phine, to  pass  a  few  hours  with  her  in  quiet,  undisturbed 
communion  ;  to  speak  in  tenderness  and  love  of  the  future, 
to  weep  with  her,  and,  full  of  deepest  emotion  and  sincerity, 

♦  Thiers,  "  Histoire  du  Consulat,"  etc.,  vol.  xi.,  p.  849. 


DIVORCE.  508 

to  assure  her  of  his  undying  gratitude  for  the  past,  and  of 
his  abiding  friendship  for  the  future. 

Josephine  passed  the  night  in  tears,  struggling  with  her 
heart,  sometimes  breaking  into  bitter  complaints  and  re- 
proaches, which  she  immediately  repressed  with  that  gen- 
tleness and  mildness  so  much  her  own,  and  with  that  love 
which  never  for  a  moment  departed  from  her  breast. 

There  remained  yet  to  perform  the  last,  the  most  pain- 
ful scene  of  this  great,  tearful  drama.  Josephine  had  to 
leave  the  Tuileries  ;  she  had  forever  to  retire  from  the  place 
which  she  so  long  had  occupied  at  her  husband's  side ;  she 
had  to  descend  into  the  open  grave  of  her  mournful  aban- 
donment ;  as  a  widow,  to  part  with  the  corpse  of  her  love 
and  of  the  past,  and  to  put  on  mourning  apparel  for  a  hus- 
band who  was  not  yet  dead,  but  who  only  rejected  her  to 
give  his  hand  and  his  heart  to  another  woman. 

The  next  day  at  two  o'clock,  the  moment  had  come  for 
Josephine  to  leave  the  Tuileries,  to  make  room  for  the  yet 
unknown  wife  of  the  future.  Napoleon  wanted  to  leave 
Paris  at  the  same  moment,  and  pass  a  few  days  of  quiet  and 
solitude  in  Trianon. 

The  carriages  of  the  emperor  and  empress  were  both 
ready ;  the  last  farewell  of  husbatid  and  wife,  now  to  part 
forever,  had  yet  to  be  said.  M.  de  Meneval,  who  was  the 
sole  witness  of  those  sad  moments,  gives  of  them  a  most 
affecting  description,  which  bears  upon  its  face  the  merit  of 
truth  and  impartiality. 

"  When  it  was  announced  to  the  emperor  that  the  car- 
riage was  ready,  he  stood  up,  took  his  hat,  and  said :  '  Mene« 
val,  come  with  me.' 

"  I  followed   him  through  the  narrow  winding  stairs 

which  led  from  his  room  into  that  of  the  empress.    She  was 

alone,  and  seemed  absorbed  in  the  saddest  thoughts.    At  the 

noise  we  made  in  entering  she  rose  up  and  eagerly  threw 

herself,  sobbing,  upon  the  neck  of  the  emperor,  who  draw 
S3 


504  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

her  to  his  breast  and  embraced  her  several  times ;  but  Jose- 
phine, overcome  by  excitement,  had  fainted.  I  hastened 
to  ring  for  assistance.  The  emperor,  to  avoid  the  renewal 
of  a  painful  scene,  which  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  prevent, 
placed  the  empress  in  my  arms  as  soon  as  he  perceived  her 
senses  return,  and  ordered  me  not  to  leave  her,  and  then  he 
hurried  away  through  the  halls  of  the  first  story,  at  whose 
gate  his  carriage  was  waiting.  Josephine  became  immedi- 
ately conscious  of  the  emperor's  absence ;  her  tears  and  sobs 
redoubled.  Her  women,  who  had  now  entered,  laid  her  on 
a  sofa,  and  busied  themselves  with  tender  solicitude  to  bring 
her  relief.  In  her  bewilderment  she  had  seized  my  hands, 
and  urgently  entreated  me  to  tell  the  emperor  not  to  forget 
her,  and  to  assure  him  of  her  devotedness,  which  would  out- 
last every  trial.  I  had  to  promise  her  that  at  my  arrival  in 
Trianon  I  would  wait  upon  the  emperor  and  see  that  he 
would  write  to  her.  It  caused  her  pain  to  see  me  leave,  as 
if  my  departure  tore  away  the  last  bond  which  united  her 
to  the  emperor.  I  left  her,  deeply  affected  by  so  true  a  sor- 
row and  by  so  sincere  a  devotion.  During  the  whole  jour- 
ney I  was  deeply  moved,  and  could  not  but  bewail  the 
merciless  political  considerations  which  tore  violently  apart 
the  bonds  of  so  faithful  an  affection  for  the  sake  of  contract- 
ing a  new  union,  which,  after  all,  contained  but  uncertain 
chances. 

"  In  Trianon  I  told  the  emperor  all  that  had  happened 
since  his  departure,  and  I  conveyed  to  him  the  message  in- 
trusted to  me  by  the  empress.  The  emperor  was  still  suf- 
fering from  the  emotions  caused  by  this  farewell  scene.  He 
spoke  warmly  of  Josephine's  qualities,  of  the  depth  and  sin- 
cerity of  the  sentiments  she  cherished  for  him ;  he  looked 
upon  her  as  a  devoted  friend,  and,  in  fact,  he  has  ever  main- 
tained for  her  a  heart-felt  affection.  The  very  same  even- 
ing he  sent  her  a  letter  to  console  her  in  her  solitude.  When 
he  learned  that  she  was  sad  and  wept  much,  he  wrote  to  her 


THE  DIVORCED.  505 

again,  complained  tenderly  of  her  want  of  courage,  and  told 
her  how  deeply  this  troubled  him."  * 

It  is  true  Josephine's  sorrow  was  bitter,  and  the  first 
night  of  solitude  in  Malmaison  was  especially  distressing 
and  horrible.  But  even  in  these  hours  of  painful  struggle 
the  empress  maintained  her  gentleness  and  mildness  of 
character.  Mademoiselle  d'Avrillon,  one  of  the  ladies  in 
waiting,  has  given  her  testimony  to  that  effect : 

"  I  was  with  the  empress  during  the  greater  part  of  the 
night,"  writes  she ;  "  sleep  was  impossible,  and  time  passed 
away  in  conversation.  The  empress  was  moved  to  the  very 
depth  of  her  heart ;  it  is  true,  she  complained  of  her  fate, 
but  in  expressions  so  gentle,  in  so  resigned  a  manner,  that 
tears  would  come  to  her  eyes.  There  was  no  bitterness  in 
her  words,  not  even  during  this  first  night  when  the  blow 
which  destroyed  her,  had  fallen  upon  her ;  she  spoke  of 
the  emperor  with  the  same  love,  with  the  same  respect,  as 
she  had  always  done.  Her  grief  was  most  acute :  she  suf- 
fered as  a  wife,  as  a  mother,  and  with  all  the  wounded 
sensitiveness  of  a  woman,  but  she  endured  her  afifliction 
with  courage,  and  remained  unchanged  in  gentleness,  love, 
and  goodness."  f 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THE    DIVORCED. 

Josephine  had  accepted  her  fate,  and,  descending  from 
the  imperial  throne  whose  ornament  she  had  long  been, 
retired  into  the  solitude  and  quietness  of  private  life. 

•  Meneval,  "  Napoleon  et  Marie  Louise. — Souvenirs  Historiques," 
vol.  i.,  pp.  230-233. 

f  Avrillon,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  ii.,  p.  166. 


506  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

But  the  love  and  admiration  of  the  French  nation  fol- 
lowed the  empress  to  Malmaison,  where  she  had  retreated 
from  the  world,  and  where  the  regard  and  friendship,  if  not 
the  love  of  Napoleon  himself,  endeavored  to  alleviate  the 
sufferings  of  her  solitude.  During  the  first  days  after  lier 
divorce,  the  road  from  Paris  to  Malmaison  presented  as 
animated  a  scene  of  equipages  as  in  days  gone  by,  when 
the  emperor  resided  there  with  his  wife.  All  those  whose 
position  justified  it,  hastened  to  Malmaison  to  pay  their  re- 
spects to  Josephine,  and  through  the  expressions  of  their 
sympathy  to  soften  the  asperities  of  her  sorrow.  Doubtless 
many  came  also  through  curiosity,  to  observe  how  the  em- 
press, once  so  much  honored,  endured  the  humiliation  of 
her  present  situation.  Others,  believing  they  would  exhibit 
their  devotedness  to  the  emperor  if  they  should  follow  their 
master's  example,  abandoned  the  empress,  as  he  had  done, 
and  took  no  further  notice  of  her. 

But  the  emperor  soon  undeceived  the  latter,  manifesting 
his  dissatisfaction  by  his  cold  demeanor  and  repelling  in- 
difference toward  them,  whilst  he  loudly  praised  all  those 
who  had  exercised  their  gratitude  by  visiting  Malmaison, 
and  in  expressing  their  devotedness  to  the  empress. 

He  himself  went  beyond  his  whole  court  in  showing 
attention  and  respect  to  Josephine.  The  very  next  day 
after  their  separation,  the  emperor  went  to  Malmaison  to 
visit  her,  and  to  take  with  her  a  long  walk  through  the 
park.  During  the  following  days  he  came  again,  and  once 
invited  her  and  the  ladies  of  her  new  court  to  a  dinner  in 
Trianon. 

Josephine  might  have  imagined  that  nothing  had  been 
altered  in  her  situation,  and  that  she  was  still  Napoleon's 
wife.  But  there  were  wanting  in  their  intercourse  those 
little,  inexpressible  shades  of  confidence  which  her  exquisite 
tact  and  her  instinctive  feelings  felt  yet  more  deeply  than 
the  Diore  important  and  visible  changes. 


THE  DIVORCED.  507 

When  Napoleon  came  or  went,  he  no  longer  embraced 
her,  but  merely  pressed  her  hand  in  a  friendly  manner,  an«^ 
often  called  her  "  madame  "  and  "  you  ; "  he  was  more  for- 
mal, more  polite  to  her  than  he  had  ever  been  before. 

And  then  his  daily  visits  ceased ;  in  their  place  came  his 
letters,  it  is  true,  but  they  were  only  the  letters  of  a  friend, 
who  tried  to  comfort  her  in  her  misfortune,  but  took  no 
sympathetic  interest  in  her  distress. 

Soon  these  letters  became  more  rare,  and  when  they  did 
come  they  were  shorter.  The  emperor  had  to  busy  him- 
self with  other  matters  than  with  the  solitary,  rejected 
woman  in  Malmaison ;  he  had  now  to  occupy  his  thoughts 
with  his  young  and  beautiful  bride — with  Maria  Louisa, 
the  daughter  of  the  Emperor  of  Austria,  who  was  soon  to 
enter  Paris  as  the  wife  of  Napoleon,  the  Emperor  of 
France. 

Bitter  and  painful  indeed  were  those  first  days  of  resig- 
nation for  Josephine ;  harsh  and  unsparing  were  the  con- 
flicts she  had  to  fight  with  her  own  heart,  before  its  wounds 
could  be  closed,  and  its  pains  and  its  humiliations  cease  to 
torment  her ! 

But  Josephine  had  a  brave  heart,  a  strong  will,  and  a 
resolute  determination  to  control  herself.  She  conquered 
herself  into  rest  and  resignation ;  she  did  not  wish  that  the 
emperor,  the  happy  bridegroom,  should  ever  hear  of  her  red, 
weeping  eyes,  of  her  lamentations  and  sighs ;  she  did  not 
wish  that,  in  the  golden  cup  which  the  husband  of  the 
emperor's  young  daughter  was  drinking  in  the  full  joyous- 
ness  of  a  conqueror,  her  tears  should  commingle  therein  as 
drops  of  gall. 

She  controlled  herself  so  far  as  to  be  able  with  smiling 
calmness  to  have  related  to  her  how  Paris  was  celebrating 
the  new  marriage  festivities,  how  the  new  Empress  of  the 
French  was  everywhere  received  with  enthusiasm.  She  was 
even  able  to  inquire,  with  an  expression  of  friendly  sym- 


508  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

pathy,  after  Maria  Louisa,  the  young  wife  of  sixteen,  who 
had  taken  the  place  of  the  woman  of  forty-eight,  and  from 
whom  Josephine,  in  the  sincerity  of  her  love,  required  but 
one  thing,  namely,  to  make  Napoleon  happy. 

When  she  was  told  that  Napoleon  loved  Maria  Louisa 
with  all  the  passion  of  a  fiery  lover,  Josephine  conquered 
herself  so  as  to  smile  and  thank  God  that  she  had  accepted 
her  sacrifice  and  thus  secured  Napoleon's  happiness. 

But  the  emperor,  however  much  he  might  be  enamored 
of  his  young  wife,  never  forgot  the  bride  of  the  past,  the 
beloved  one  of  his  youth,  of  whom  he  had  been  not  only 
captivated,  but  whom  he  had  loved  from  the  very  depths  of 
his  soul.  He  surrounded  her,  though  from  a  distance,  with 
attentions  and  tokens  of  affection ;  he  would  often  write  to 
her;  and  at  times,  when  his  heart  was  burdened  and  full 
of  cares,  he  would  come  to  Malmaison,  and  visit  this  woman 
who  understood  how  to  read  in  his  face  the  thoughts  of  his 
heart,  this  woman  whose  soft,  gracious,  and  amiable  dispo- 
sition— even  as  a  tranquillizing  and  invigorating  breeze  after 
a  sultry  day — could  quiet  his  excited  soul ;  to  this  woman 
he  came  for  refreshment,  for  a  little  repose,  and  sweet  com- 
munion. 

It  is  true  those  visits  of  the  emperor  to  his  divorced  wife 
were  made  secretly  and  privately,  for  his  second  wife  was 
jealous  of  the  affection  which  Napoleon  still  retained  for 
Josephine;  she  listened  with  gloomy  attention  to  the  de- 
scriptions which  were  made  to  her  of  the  amiableness,  of  the 
unwithered  beauty  of  Josephine ;  and  one  day,  after  hear- 
ing that  the  emperor  had  visited  her  in  Malmaison,  Maria 
Louisa  broke  out  into  tears,  and  complained  bitterly  of  this 
mortification  caused  by  her  husband. 

Napoleon  had  to  spare  this  jealous  disposition  of  his 
young  wife,  for  Maria  Louisa  was  now  in  that  situation 
which  France  and  its  emperor  had  expected  and  hoped  from 
this  marriage ;  she  was  approaching  the  time  when  the  ob- 


THE  DIVORCED.  509 

]ect  for  which  Napoleon  had  married  her  was  to  be  accom- 
plished, when  she  was  to  give  to  France  and  the  Bonaparte 
dynasty  a  legitimate  heir.  It  was  necessary,  therefore,  to  be 
cautious  with  the  young  empress,  and,  on  account  of  her 
interesting  situation,  it  was  expedient  to  avoid  the  gloomy 
sulkiness  of  jealousy. 

By  the  emperor's  orders,  and  under  pain  of  the  punish- 
ment of  his  wrath,  no  one  dared  speak  to  Maria  Louisa  of 
the  divorced  empress,  and  Napoleon  avoided  designedly  to 
give  her  an  occasion  of  complaint.  He  went  no  longer  to 
Malmaison ;  he  even  ceased  corresponding  with  his  former 
wife. 

Only  once  during  this  period  he  had  not  been  able  to 
resist  the  longing  of  visiting  Josephine,  who,  as  he  had 
heard,  was  sick.  The  emperor,  accompanied  only  by  one 
horseman,  rode  from  Trianon  to  Malmaison.  At  the  back 
gate  of  the  garden  he  dismounted  from  his  horse,  and,  with- 
out being  announced,  walked  through  the  park  to  the  cas- 
tle. No  one  had  seen  him,  and  he  was  about  passing  from 
the  front-room  into  the  cabinet  of  the  empress  by  a  side- 
door,  when  the  folding-doors  leading  from  this  front-room 
into  the  cabinet  opened,  and  Spontini  walked  out. 

Napoleon,  agitated  and  vexed  at  having  been  surprised, 
advanced  with  imperious  mien  toward  the  renowned  maes- 
tro, who  was  quietly  approaching  him. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  sir  ?  "  cried  Napoleon,  with 
choleric  impatience. 

Spontini,  however,  returned  the  emperor's  haughty  look, 
and,  measuring  him  with  a  deep,  flaming  glance,  asked, 
with  a  lofty  assurance  :  "  Sire,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

The  emperor  answered  not — a  terrible  glance  fell  upon 
the  bold  maestro,  without,  however,  annihilating  him  :  then 
Napoleon  entered  into  Josephine's  cabinet,  and  Spontini 
walked  away  slowly  and  with  uplifted  head. 

Spontini,  the  famous  composer  of  the  "  Vestals,"  whose 


i 
510  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

score  he  had  dedicated  to  the  Empress  Josephine,  remained 
after  her  divorce  a  true  and  devoted  admirer  of  the  em- 
press ;  and  in  Malmaison,  as  well  as  in  the  castle  of  Xavarra, 
he  showed  himself  as  faithful,  as  ready  to  serve,  as  submis- 
sive, as  he  had  once  been  in  the  Tuileries,  or  at  St.  Cloud,  in 
the  days  of  Josephine's  glory.  He  often  passed  whole  weeks 
in  Navarra,  and  even  undertook  to  teach  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  of  the  court  the  choruses  of  the  "  Vestals,"  which 
the  empress  so  much  liked. 

Josephine  had,  therefore,  for  the  renowned  maestro  a 
heart-felt  friendship,  and  she  took  pleasure  in  boasting  of 
the  gratitude  and  loyalty  of  Spontini,  in  contrast  with  the 
sad  experiences  she  had  made  of  man's  ingratitude.* 

The  emperor,  as  already  said,  avoided  to  trouble  his 
young  wife  by  exciting  her  jealousy;  and  though  he  did 
not  visit  Malmaison,  though  for  a  time  he  did  not  write  to 
Josephine,  yet  he  was  acquainted  with  the  most  minute  de- 
tails of  her  life,  and  with  all  the  little  events  of  her  home ; 
and  he  took  care  that  around  her  every  thing  was  done  ac- 
cording to  the  strictest  rules  of  etiquette,  and  that  she  was 
surrounded  by  the  same  splendor  and  the  same  ceremonies 
as  when  she  was  empress. 

At  last  the  moment  had  come  which  was  to  give  to  Jose- 
phine her  most  sacred  and  glorious  reward.  The  cannon  of 
the  Invalides,  with  their  one  hundred  and  one  thunders, 
a,nnounced  that  Maria  Louisa  had  given  birth  to  a  son,  and 
Prince  Eugene  was  the  first  who  brought  this  news  to  hii 
mother  in  Navarm. 

Josephine's  countenance  beamed  with  satisfaction  and 
joy  when  she  learned  from  the  lips  of  her  son  this  news  of 
the  birth  of  the  King  of  Rome  ;  she  called  her  whole  court 
together  to  communicate  herself  this  news  to  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  and  to  have  them  listen  to  the  descriptions  whicl 

*  "  Memoires  sur  I'lmperatrice  Josephine,"  par  Mile.  Ducrest,"  to| 
i.,  p.  287. 


THE  DIVORCED.  511 

Eugene,  with  all  heartiness,  was  making  of  the  scenes  which 
had  taken  place  in  the  imperial  family  circle  during  the 
mysterious  hours  of  suspense  and  expectation. 

But  when  Eugene  repeated  the  words  of  Napoleon's 
message  which  he  sent  through  him  to  Josephine,  her  coun- 
tenance was  illumined  with  joy  and  satisfaction,  and  tears 
started  from  her  eye^ — tears  of  purest  joy,  of  most  sacred 
love  I 

Napoleon  had  said  :  "  Eugene,  go  to  your  mother ;  tell 
her  that  I  am  convinced  no  one  will  be  more  pleased  with 
my  happiness  than  she.  I  would  have  written  to  her,  but  I 
should  have  had  to  give  up  the  pleasure  of  gazing  at  my  son 
I  part  from  him  only  to  attend  to  inexorable  duties.  Bu(j 
this  evening  I  will  accomplish  the  most  agreeable  of  all  du- 
ties— I  will  write  to  Josephine."  * 

The  emperor  kept  his  word.  The  same  evening  there 
came  to  Malmaison  an  imperial  page,  with  an  autograph 
letter  from  Napoleon  to  Josephine.  The  empress  rewarded 
this  messenger  of  glad  tidings  with  a  costly  diamond-pin, 
and  then  she  called  her  ladies  together,  to  show  them  the 
letter  which  had  brought  so  much  happiness  to  her  heart, 
and  which  also  had  obscured  her  eyes  with  tears. 

It  was  an  autograph  letter  of  Napoleon ;  it  contained  six 
or  eight  lines,  written  with  a  rapid  hand  ;  the  pen,  too  has- 
tily filled,  had  dropped  large  blots  of  ink  on  the  paper.  In 
these  lines  Napoleon  announced  to  Josephine  the  birth  of 
the  King  of  Rome,  and  concluded  with  these  words :  "  This 
child,  in  concert  with  our  Eugene,  will  secure  the  happiness 
of  France,  and  mine  also." 

These  last  words  were  to  Josephine  full  of  delight.  "  Is 
it,  then,  possible,"  exclaimed  she,  joyously,  "to  be  more 
amiable  and  more  tender,  thus  to  sweeten  what  this  moment 
might  have  of  bitterness  if  I  did  not  love  the  emperor  so 

*  Ducrest,  vol.  i.,  p.  236. 


512  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

much  ?  To  place  my  son  alongside  of  his  is  an  act  worthy 
of  the  man  who,  when  he  will,  can  be  the  most  enchanting 
of  men."* 

And  this  child,  for  which  so  much  suffering  had  been 
endured,  for  which  she  had  offered  her  own  life  in  sacrifice, 
was  by  Josephine  loved  even  as  if  it  were  her  own.  She  was 
always  asking  news  from  the  little  King  of  Eome,  and  no 
deeper  joy  could  be  brought  to  her  heart  than  to  speak  to 
her  of  the  amiableness,  the  beauty,  the  liveliness  of  this  lit- 
tle prince,  who  appeared  to  her  as  the  visible  reward  of  the 
sacrifice  which  she  had  made  to  God  and  to  the  emperor. 

One  intense,  craving  wish  did  Josephine  cherish  during 
all  these  years — she  longed  to  see  Napoleon's  son  ;  she 
longed  to  press  to  her  heart  this  child  who  was  making  her 
former  husband  so  happy,  and  on  which  rested  all  the  hopes 
of  France. 

Finally  Napoleon  granted  her  desire.  Privately,  and  in 
all  secrecy,  for  Maria  Louisa's  jealousy  was  ever  on  the  watch, 
and  she  would  never  have  consented  to  allow  her  son  to  go 
to  her  rival ;  without  pomp,  without  suite,  the  emperor  took 
a  drive  with  the  little  three-year-old  King  of  Rome  to  the 
pleasure-castle  of  Bagatelle,  whither  he  had  invited  the 
Empress  Josephine  through  his  trusty  chamberlain  Con- 
stant. 

Josephine  herself  has  described  her  interview  with  the 
little  King  of  Rome  in  a  very  touching  and  affecting  letter 
which  she  addressed  the  next  day  to  the  emperor,  and  which 
contains  full  and  interesting  details  of  the  brief  interview 
she  had  with  the  son  of  Maria  Louisa.  We  cannot,  there- 
fore, abridge  this  letter,  nor  deny  ourselves  the  pleasure  of 
transcribing  it : 

"  Sire,  although  deeply  moved  by  our  interview  of  ye8^ 
terday,  and  preoccupied  with  the  beautiful  and  lovely  child 

*  Ducrest,  vol.  i.,  p.  238. 


THE  DIVORCED.  513 

yoti  brought  me,  penetrated  with  gratitude  for  the  step 
takba  by  you  for  my  sake,  and  whose  unpleasant  conse- 
quences, I  may  well  imagine,  could  fall  only  upon  you  ;  I 
felt  the  most  pressing  desire  to  converse  with  you,  to  assure 
you  of  my  joy,  which  was  too  great  to  be  at  once  exhibited 
in  a  suitable  manner.  You,  who  to  meet  my  wishes  exposed 
yourself  to  the  danger  of  having  your  peace  disturbed,  will 
fully  understand  why  I  thus  long  to  acknowledge  to  you  all 
the  happiness  your  inestimable  favor  has  produced  with- 
in me. 

"  Truly,  it  was  not  out  of  mere  curiosity  that  I  wished  to 
see  the  King  of  Kome ;  his  face  was  not  unknown  to  me, 
for  I  had  seen  striking  portraits  of  him.  Sire,  I  wanted  to 
examine  the  expression  of  his  features,  listen  to  the  tone  of 
his  voice,  which  is  so  much  like  yours ;  I  wanted  to  see  you 
— how  you  would  caress  the  child,  and  then  I  longed  also  to 
return  to  him  the  caresses  which  my  son  Eugene  received 
from  you.  If  I  recall  to  your  remembrance  how  dear  my 
son  was  once  to  you,  it  is  that  you  should  not  be  surprised 
at  the  partiality  which  I  cherish  for  the  son  of  another,  for 
it  is  your  son,  and  you  will  find  neither  insincerity  nor  ex- 
aggeration in  feelings  which  you  fully  appreciate,  since  you 
yourself  have  nurtured  similar  ones. 

"  The  moment  I  saw  you  enter  with  the  little  Napoleon 
in  your  hand  was  undoubtedly  one  of  the  happiest  of  my 
eventful  life.  That  moment  surpassed  all  the  preceding 
ones,  for  never  have  I  received  from  you  a  stronger  proof  of 
your  affection  to  me.  It  was  no  passionate  love  which  in- 
duced you  to  fulfil  my  wishes,  but  it  was  a  sincere  esteem 
and  affection,  and  these  feelings  are  unchangeable,  and  this 
thought  completes  my  happiness. 

"  It  was  not  without  trembling  that  I  thought  of  the 
dissolution  of  our  marriage-ties,  for  it  was  reasonable  for 
me  to  apprehend  that  a  young,  beautiful  wife,  endowed 
also  with  the  most  enviable  gifts,  would  soon  make  you  for- 


514  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

get  one  who  lacks  all  these  advantages,  and  who  then  would 
be  far  away  from  you.  When  I  called  to  mind  all  the  ami- 
able qualities  possessed  by  Maria  Louisa,  I  could  not  but 
tremble  at  the  thought  that  I  should  soon  be  indifferent  to 
you,  but  surely  I  was  then  ignoring  the  loftiness  and  gen- 
erosity of  your  soul,  which  still  preserves  the  memory  of  its 
extraordinary  devotedness,  and  of  its  tenderness  toward  me, 
a  devotedness  and  tenderness  whose  superabundance  was 
proportioned  to  those  eminent  qualities  which  have  sur- 
prised Europe,  and  which  cause  you  to  be  admired  by  all 
those  who  come  near  you,  and  which  even  constrain  your 
enemies  to  render  you  justice ! 

"  Yes,  I  acknowledge  to  you,  sire,  you  have  once  more 
found  the  means  of  astonishing  me,  and  to  fill  me  with  ad- 
miration, accustomed  as  I  am  to  admire  you;  and  your 
whole  conduct,  so  well  suited  to  my  position,  the  solicitude 
with  which  you  surround  me,  and  finally  the  step  you  took 
yesterday  in  my  behalf,  prove  to  me  that  you  have  far  sur- 
passed all  the  favorable  and  charming  impressions  which  I 
have  ever  cherished  for  you. 

"  With  what  fondness  I  pressed  the  young  prince  to  my 
heart !  How  his  face,  radiant  with  health,  filled  me  with 
delight,  and  how  happy  I  was  to  see  him  so  amused  and  so 
contented  as  he  watched  us  both  !  In  fact,  I  entirely  for- 
got I  was  a  stranger  to  this  child  ;  I  forgot  that  I  was  not 
his  mother  while  partaking  his  sweet  caresses.  I  then  en- 
vied no  man's  happiness ;  mine  seemed  far  above  all  bliss 
granted  to  poor  mortals  here  below.  And  when  the  time 
came  to  part  from  him,  when  I  had  to  tear  myself  from 
this  little  being  whom  I  had  barely  learned  to  know,  I  felt 
in  me  a  deep  anguish,  as  deep  as  if  all  the  so^-rows  of  hu- 
manity had  pierced  me  through. 

"  Have  you,  as  I  did,  closely  noticed  the  little  command- 
ing tone  of  your  son  when  he  made  known  to  me  his  wish 
that  he  wanted  me  to  be  in  the  Tuileries  with  Uini  ?    And 


THE  DIVORCED.  515 

then  his  little  pouting  mien  when  I  answered  that  this 
could  not  be  ? 

" '  Why,'  exclaimed  he,  in  his  own  way,  '  why,  since 
papa  and  I  wish  it?' 

"  Yes,  this  already  reveals  that  he  will  understand  how 
to  command,  and  I  heartily  rejoice  to  discern  traits  of  char- 
acter which,  in  a  private  individual,  might  be  pregnant 
with  evil  consequences,  but  which  are  becoming  to  a  prince 
who  is  destined  to  rule  in  a  time  that  is  so  near  a  long  and 
terrible  revolution.  For  after  the  downfall  of  all  order, 
such  as  we  have  outlived,  a  sovereign  cannot  hope  to  main- 
tain peace  in  his  kingdom  merely  through  mildness  and 
goodness.  The  nation  over  which  he  rules,  and  which 
yet  stands  on  the  hot  soil  of  a  volcano,  must  have  the  as- 
surance that  crime  no  sooner  lifts  its  head  than  swift 
punishment  will  reach  it.  As  you  yourself  have  told  me  a 
thousand  times:  'When  once  fear  has  been  instilled,  one 
must  not  by  arbitrariness,  but  through  strict  impartiality, 
strive  to  be  loved.' 

"  You  have  often  used  your  privilege  of  granting  par- 
don, but  you  have  more  frequently  proved  that  you  would 
not  tolerate  a  violation  of  the  laws  enacted  by  you.  Thus 
you  have  subdued  and  mastered  the  Jacobins,  quieted  the 
royalists,  and  satisfied  the  party  of  moderation.  Your  son 
will  now  have  your  example  before  him,  and,  happier  than 
you,  will  be  able  to  go  further  in  manifesting  clemency 
toward  the  guilty. 

"  I  had  with  him  a  conversation  which  establishes  the 
deep  sensitiveness  of  his  heart. 

"  He  was  delighted  with  my  charivari^  and  then  he  said 
to  me: 

" '  Ah,  how  beautiful  that  is !  but  if  it  were  given  to  a 
poor  man  he  would  be  rich,  would  he  not,  madame  ? ' 

"  '  Certainly  he  would,'  I  replied. 

"  *  Well,  then,'  said  he, '  I  have  seen  in  the  woods  a  poor 


616  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE, 

man ;  allow  me  to  send  for  him.     I  have  no  money  myself, 
and  he  needs  a  good  coat.' 

" '  The  emperor,'  I  replied, '  will  find  a  pleasure  in  grati- 
fying your  wishes.  Why  does  not  your  imperial  highness 
ask  him  for  his  purse  ? ' 

" '  I  have  asked  him  already,  madame.  He  gave  it  to 
me  when  we  left  Paris,  and  we  have  given  all  away.  But 
as  you  look  so  good,  I  thought  you  would  do  what  was  s^ 
natural.' 

"  I  promised  to  be  useful  to  that  poor  man,  and  1 
will  certainly  keep  my  word.  I  have  given  orders  to  my 
courier  to  find  the  unfortunate  person,  and  bring  him 
to-morrow  to  Malmaison,  where  we  will  see  what  can  be 
done  for  him.  For  it  will  indeed  be  sweet  for  me  to 
perform  a  good  work  counselled  by  a  child  three  years 
old.  Tell  him,  I  pray  you,  sire,  that  this  poor  man  is  no 
longer  poor ! 

"  I  have  thought  you  would  be  pleased  to  gather  these 
details  from  a  conversation  which  passed  between  us  in  a 
low  voice,  while  you  were  busy  at  the  other  end  of  the 
drawing-room,  examining  an  atlas.  You  will  also  perceive 
by  this,  how  fortunate  it  is  for  the  King  of  Kome  to  have 
a  governess,  who  knows  how  to  inspire  him  with  such  feel- 
ings of  compassion,  the  more  touching  that  they  are  seldom 
found  in  princes.  For  princes  in  general  have  been  ac- 
customed to  a  constant  flattery,  which  induces  them  to 
imagine  that  every  thing  in  the  world  is  for  them,  and  that 
they  can  entirely  dismiss  the  duty  of  thinking  about  others. 
In  fact  the  eminent  qualities  of  Madame  de  Montesquieu 
make  her  worthy  of  the  important  and  responsible  charge 
you  have  committed  to  her  care,  and  the  sentiments  of  the 
prince  justify  the  choice  you  have  made.  Will  he  not  be 
good  and  benevolent,  who  is  brought  up  by  goodness  and 
,  benevolence  themselves? 

"  I  am,  however,  afraid  that  his  imperial  highness,  not- 


THE  DIVORCED.  517 

withstanding  the  orders  made  to  him  by  you,  has  spoken 
of  this  interview,  which  was  to  remain  secret.  I  recom- 
mended him  not  to  open  his  mouth,  and  I  assured  him 
that  if  any  one  knew  that  he  had  come  to  Bagatelle  it  would 
be  impossible  for  him  to  come  here  again. 

" '  Oh,  then,  madame,'  replied  he,  '  be  not  alarmed,  I  will 
say  nothing,  for  I  love  you  ;  promise  me,  however,  if  I  am 
obedient,  to  come  soon  and  visit  me.' 

"  Ah !  I  assured  him,  that  I  desired  this  more  than  he 
did  himself,  and  I  have  never  spoken  more  truly. 

"  Meanwhile,  I  am  conscious  that  those  interviews,  which 
fill  me  with  extreme  joy,  cannot  often  be  repeated,  and  I 
must  not  abuse  your  goodness  toward  me  by  claiming  your 
presence  too  often.  The  sacrifice  which  I  make  to  your  men- 
tal quietude  is  another  proof  of  my  intense  desire  to  render 
you  happy.  This  thought  will  comfort  me  while  waiting  to 
be  able  to  embrace  my  adopted  son.  Do  you  not  find  this 
exchange  of  children  very  sweet  ?  As  regards  myself,  sire, 
what  distresses  me  is,  that  I  can  only  give  to  your  son  this 
name,  without  being  able  to  be  useful  to  him!  And,  again, 
how  different  is  my  position  from  that  which  you  held  to- 
ward Eugene !  The  longer,  the  kinder  you  are  to  him,  the 
less  can  I  show  you  my  gratitude  !  However,  I  rely  upon 
the  vice-king  that  he  will  be  a  comfort  to  you,  amid  the 
sorrows  which  your  family  causes  you.  If,  unfortunately, 
what  you  surmise  about  the  King  of  Naples  were  to  hap- 
pen, then  Eugene  would  become  still  more  useful  to  you 
than  ever,  and  I  dare  trust  he  would  prove  worthy  of  you 
by  his  conduct  in  war  as  well  as  by  his  sincere  devotedness 
to  your  service. 

"  You  have  now  received  quite  a  long  letter  from  me ! 
The  sentiment  of  delight  in  talking  about  our  two  sons  has 
carried  me  away,  and  this  sentiment  will  make  me  excusable 
for  having  so  long  intruded  upon  you.  As  sorrow  needs 
concentration,  so  joy  needs  expansion.     This,  sire,  explains 


518  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

this  letter,  long  as  a  volume,  and  which  I  cannot  close  with- 
out once  more  expressing  my  deepest  gratitude. 

"  Josephine."  * 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

DEATH. 

Happy  the  man  to  whom  it  is  granted  to  close  a  beau- 
tiful and  worthy  life  with  a  beautiful  and  worthy  death ! 
Happy  Josephine,  for  whom  it  was  not  reserved  like  the 
rest  of  the  Bonapartes  to  wander  about  Europe  seeking  for  a 
refuge  where  they  might  hide  themselves  from  the  persecu- 
tions and  hatred  of  the  princes  and  people !  To  her  alone, 
of  all  the  Napoleonic  race,  was  reserved  the  enviable  fate  to 
die  under  the  ruins  of  the  imperial  throne,  whose  fragments 
fell  so  heavily  upon  her  heart  as  to  break  it. 

For  France  the  days  of  fear  had  come,  for  Napoleon  the 
days  of  vengeance.  The  nations  of  Europe  had  at  last 
risen  with  the  strength  of  the  lion  that  breaks  his  chains 
and  is  determined  to  obtain  liberty  by  devouring  those  who 
deprived  him  of  it,  and  so  those  irritated  nations  had  with 
the  power  of  their  wrath  forced  their  princes,  who  had  been 
so  obediently  submissive  to  Napoleon,  to  declare  war  and 
to  fight  against  him  for  life  or  death. 

The  conflicts,  battles,  and  endless  victories  of  the  con- 
stantly defeated  Austrians,  Prussians,  Russians,  and  English, 
belong  to  history — this  everlasting  tribunal  where  the  deeds 
of  men  are  judged,  and  where  they  are  written  on  its  pages 
to  be  for  ages  to  come  as  lessons  and  examples  of  warning 
and  encouragement. 

Josephine,  the  lonely  and  rejected  one,  had  nothing  to 

*  Ducrest,  "  M^moires,"  vol.  iii.,  p.  294 


DfiATH.  519 

do  with  those  fearful  events  which  shook  France ;  she  played 
no  active  part  in  the  great  drama  which  was  performed  be- 
fore the  walls  of  Paris,  and  which  closed  with  the  fall  of  the 
hero  whom  she  had  so  warmly  and  so  truly  loved. 

Josephine,  during  those  days  of  horror  and  of  decisive 
conflicts,  was  in  her  pleasure-castle  of  Navarra.  Her  daugh- 
ter. Queen  Hortense,  with^her  two  sons.  Napoleon  Louis  and 
Louis  Napoleon,  was  with  her.  There  she  learned  the 
treachery  of  the  marshals,  the  capitulation  of  Marmont,  the 
surrender  of  Paris,  and  the  entrance  of  the  foreign  foe  into 
the  capital  of  France. 

But  where  was  Napoleon  ?  Where  was  the  emperor  ? 
Did  Josephine  know  anything  of  him  ?  Why  did  he  not 
come  to  the  rescue  of  his  capital,  and  drive  the  foe  away  ?  . 

Such  were  the  questions  which  afflicted  Josephine's 
heart,  and  to  which  the  news,  finally  re-echoed  through 
Paris,  gave  her  the  fearful  response. 

Napoleon  had  come  too  late,  and  when  he  had  arrived 
in  Fontainebleau  with  the  remnants  of  the  army  defeated 
by  Blucher,  he  learned  there  that  Marmont  had  capitulated, 
and  that  the  allies  had  already  entered  Paris,  and  all  was 
lost. 

The  deputies  of  the  senate  and  Napoleon's  faithless  mar- 
shals came  from  Paris  to  Fontainebleau  to  require  from  him 
that  he  should  resign  his  crown,  and  that  he  should  save 
France  by  the  sacrifice  of  himself  and  his  imperial  dignity. 
These  men,  lately  the  most  humble,  devoted  courtiers  and 
flatterers  of  Napoleon,  who  owed  to  him  everything — name, 
position,  fortune,  and  rank — had  now  the  courage  to  ap- 
proach him  with  lofty  demeanor  and  to  request  of  him  to 
depart  into  exile. 

Napoleon,  overcome  by  all  this  misfortune  and  treach- 
ery which  fell  upon  him,  did  what  they  required  of  him. 
He  abdicated  in  favor  of  his  son,  and  left  Paris,  left  France, 
to  go  to  the  small  island  of  Elba,  there  to  dream  of  the  days 
34 


520  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

which  had  been  and  of  the  days  which  were  coming,  when 
ke  would  regain  his  glory  and  his  emperor's  crown. 

Amid  the  agonies,  cares,  and  humiliations  of  his  present 
situation.  Napoleon  thought  of  the  woman  whom  he  had 
once  named  the  "  angel  of  his  happiness,"  and  who  he  well 
knew  would  readily  and  gladly  be  the  angel  of  his  misfor- 
tune. Before  leaving  Fontainebleau  to  retire  to  the  island  of 
Elba,  Napoleon  wrote  to  Josephine  a  farewell  letter,  telling 
her  of  the  fate  reserved  for  him,  and  assuring  her  of  his 
never-ending  friendship  and  affection.  He  sent  this  letter 
to  the  castle  of  Navarra  by  M.  de  Maussion,  and  the  mes- 
senger of  evil  tidings  arrived  there  in  the  middle  of  the 
night. 

Josephine  had  given  orders  that  she  should  be  awakened 
as  soon  as  any  one  brought  news  for  her.  She  immediately 
arose  from  her  bed,  threw  a  mantle  over  her  shoulders,  and 
bade  M.  de  Maussion  come  in. 

"  Does  the  emperor  live  ?"  cried  she,  as  he  approached. 
"Only  answer  me  this:  does  the  emperor  live?" 

Then,  when  she  had  received  this  assurance,  after  read- 
ing Napoleon's  letter,  and  learning  all  the  sad,  humiliating 
news,  pale,  and  trembling  in  all  her  limbs,  she  hastened  to 
her  daughter  Hortense. 

"Ah,  Hortense,"  exclaimed  she,  overcome  and  falling 
into  an  arm-chair  near  her  daughter's  bed,  "  ah,  Hortense, 
the  unfortunate  Napoleon !  They  are  sending  him  to  the 
island  of  Elba !  Now  he  is  unhappy,  abandoned,  and  I  am 
not  near  him !  Were  I  not  his  wife  I  would  go  to  him  and 
exile  myself  with  him  !     Oh,  why  cannot  I  be  with  him  ?  "  * 

But  she  dared  not !  Napoleon,  knowing  her  heart  and 
her  love,  had  commissioned  the  Duke  de  Bassano  expressly 
to  tell  the  Empress  Josephine  to  make  no  attempt  to  fol- 
low him,  and  "  to  respect  the  rights  of  another." 

*  Mile.  Cochelet,  "  M^moires,"  vol.  ii 


DEATH.  521 

This  other,  however,  had  not  been  pleased  to  claim  the 
right  which  Josephine  was  to  respect.  Napoleon  left  Fon- 
tainebleau  on  the  21st  of  April,  1814,  to  go  to  the  island  of 
Elba.  It  was  his  wish  to  meet  there  his  wife  and  his  son. 
But  Maria  Louisa  did  not  come ;  she  did  not  obey  her  hus- 
band's call ;  she  descended  from  the  imperial  throne,  and 
was  satisfied  to  be  again  an  archduchess  of  Austria,  and  to 
see  the  little  King  of  Eome  dispossessed  of  country,  rank, 
father,  and  even  name.  The  poor  little  Napoleon  was  now 
called  Frank — he  was  but  the  son  of  the  Archduchess  Maria 
Louisa ;  he  dared  not  ask  for  his  father,  and  yet  memory 
ever  and  ever  re-echoed  through  his  heart  the  sounds  of 
other  days ;  this  memory  caused  the  death  of  the  Duke  de 
Eeichstadt,  the  son  of  Napoleon. 

Napoleon  had  gone  to  Elba,  and  there  he  waited  in  vain 
for  Maria  Louisa,  to  fill  whose  place  Josephine  would  have 
gladly  poured  her  heart's  blood. 

But  she  dared  not !  she  submitted  faithfully  and  devoted- 
ly to  Napoleon's  will.  To  her  he  was,  though  banished, 
humiliated,  and  conquered,  still  the  emperor  and  the  sover- 
eign ;  and  her  tearful  eyes  gazed  toward  the  solitary  island 
which  to  her  would  have  been  a  paradise  could  she  but  have 
lived  there  by  the  side  of  her  Napoleon  ! 

But  she  had  to  remain  in  France  ;  she  had  sacred  duties 
to  perform  ;  she  had  to  save  out  of  the  wreck  of  the  empire 
at  least  something  for  her  children !  For  herself  she  wanted 
nothing,  she  desired  nothing ;  but  the  future  of  her  chil- 
dren had  to  be  secured. 

Therefore,  Josephine  gathered  all  her  courage  ;  she 
pressed  her  hands  on  the  mortal  wounds  of  her  heart,  and 
kept  it  still  alive,  for  it  must  not  yet  bleed  to  death ;  her 
children  yet  claimed  her  care. 

Josephine,  therefore,  left  the  castle  of  Navarra  for  that 
of  Malmaison,  thus  fulfilling  the  wishes  of  the  Emperor 
Alexander,  who  desired  to  know  Josephine's  wishes  in  refer- 


522  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

ence  to  herself  and  to  her  children,  and  who  sincerely  wished 
to  become  acquainted  with  her,  that  he  might  offer  her  his 
homage,  and  transfer  to  her  the  friendship  he  once  cherished 
for  Napoleon. 

Josephine  received  in  Malmaison  the  first  visit  of  Alex- 
ander, and  from  this  time  he  came  every  day,  to  the  great 
grief  of  the  returned  Bourbons,  who  felt  bitterly  hurt  at  the 
homage  thus  publicly  offered  before  all  the  world  by  the 
conqueror  of  Napoleon  to  the  divorced  Empress  Josephine, 
who,  in  the  eyes  of  the  proud  Bourbons,  was  but  the  widow 
of  General  de  Beauharnais. 

Notwithstanding  this,  the  rest  of  the  princes  of  the  vic- 
torious allies  followed  the  example  of  Alexander.  They  all 
came  to  Malmaison  to  visit  the  Empress  Josephine ;  so  that 
again,  as  in  the  days  of  her  imperial  glory,  she  received  at 
her  residence  the  conquerors  of  Europe,  and  saw  around  her 
emperors  and  kings.  The  Emperor  Alexander,  with  his 
brothers ;  the  King  Frederick  William,  with  his  sons ;  the 
Duke  of  Coburg,  and  many  others  of  the  little  German 
princes,  were  guests  at  her  table,  and  endeavored,  through 
the  respect  they  manifested  to  her,  and  the  expressions  Oi. 
their  esteem  and  devotedness,  to  turn  away  from  her  the  sad 
fate  which  had  come  upon  all  the  Bonapartes. 

But  her  heart  was  mortally  wounded.  "  I  cannot  over- 
come the  fearful  sadness  which  has  seized  me,"  said  she  to 
Mile.  Cochelet,  the  friend  of  her  daughter  Hortense ;  "  I  do 
all  I  can  to  hide  my  cares  from  my  children,  but  I  suffer 
only  the  more."  * 

"  You  will  see,"  said  she  to  the  Duchess  d'Abrantes,  who 
had  visited  her  at  Malmaison,  "  you  will  see  that  Napoleon's 
misfortune  will  cause  my  death.  My  heart  is  broken — it 
will  not  be  healed."  f 

She  was  right,  her  heart  was  broken,  it  would  not  be 

*  Mile.  Cochelet.  "  Memoires,"  vol.  ii. 
f  Abrantes,  "  Memoires,"  vol.  xvii. 


DEATH.  523 

healed  !  It  seemed  at  first  but  merely  an  indisposition 
which  seized  the  empress,  and  which  obliged  her  to  decline 
the  announced  visit  of  the  Emperor  Alexander,  nothing  but 
a  slight  inflammation  of  the  neck,  accompanied  by  a  little 
fever.  But  the  disease  increased  hour  after  hour.  On  the 
27th  of  May,  Josephine  was  obliged  to  keep  her  bed ;  on 
the  29th  her  sufferings  in  the  neck  were  so  serious  that  she 
nearly  suffocated,  and  her  fever  had  become  so  intense  that 
she  had  but  few  moments  of  consciousness.  In  her  fancy 
she  often  called  aloud  for  Napoleon,  and  the  last  word  which 
her  dying  lips  uttered  was  his  name. 

Josephine  died  on  the  29th  of  May,  1814.  That  love 
which  had  illumined  her  life  occasioned  her  death,  and  will 
sanctify  her  name  for  ever  as  with  a  saintly  halo. 

She  was  buried  on  the  2d  of  June  in  the  church  at  Rueil. 
It  was  a  solemn  funeral  procession,  to  which  all  the  kings 
and  princes  assembled  in  Paris  sent  their  substitutes  in  their 
carriages ;  but  the  most  beautiful  mourning  procession  which 
followed  her  to  the  grave  were  the  tears,  the  sighs  of  the  poor, 
the  suffering  of  the  unfortunate,  for  all  whom  Josephine 
had  been  a  benefactress,  a  good  angel,  and  who  lost  in  her  a 
comforter,  a  mother. 

In  the  church  of  Rueil,  Jiiugene  and  Hortense  erected  a 
monument  to  their  mother ;  and  when  in  1837  Queen  Hor- 
tense, the  mother  of  the  Emnernr  Napoleon  III.,  died  at 
Arenenberg,  her  corpse  was,  acv^^rding  to  her  last  wishes^ 
brought  to  Rueil  and  laid  at  her  mother's  side.  Her  son 
erected  there  a  monument  to  her  ;  and  this  son,  the  grand- 
child of  Josephine,  is  now  the  Emperor  of  the  French,  Na- 
poleon III. 

Josephine's  sacrifice  has  been  in  vain.  Napoleon's  dy- 
nasty, for  whose  sake  she  sacrificed  happiness,  love,  and  a 
crown,  has  not  been  perpetuated  through  the  woman  to 
whom  Josephine  was  sacrificed — not  through  Maria  Louisa, 
who  gave  to  France  and  to  the  emperor  a  son,  but  through 


524  THE  EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE. 

the  daughter  of  Josephine,  who  gave  to  Napoleon  more  than 
a  son,  her  love,  her  heart,  and  her  life ! 

Providence  is  just !  Upon  the  throne  from  which  the 
childless  empress  was  rejected,  sits  now  the  grandchild  of 
Josephine,  and  his  very  existence  demonstrates  how  vain  are 
all  man's  calculations  and  desires,  and  how  like  withered 
leaves  they  are  carried  away  and  tossed  about  by  the  breath 
of  destiny ! 

It  was  not  the  emperor's  daughter  who  perpetuated  Na- 
poleon's dynasty,  but  the  widow  of  General  Beauharnais, 
Josephine  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie. 

Josephine,  therefore,  is  avenged  in  history ;  she  was  also 
avenged  in  Napoleon's  heart,  for  he  bitterly  lamented  that 
he  had  ever  been  separated  from  her.  "  I  ought  not  to  have 
allowed  myself  to  be  separated  from  Josephine,"  said  he,  a 
short  time  before  his  death  in  St.  Helena,  "  no,  I  ought  not 
to  have  been  divorced  from  her ;  that  was  my  misfortune  I  '* 


(40) 


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